The Thanatos Initiative
by The Chainsaw Juliet
Summary: After the solar flare of 2019 plunges the world into nuclear fallout, those lucky enough to live within the Arks find themselves in paradise and zealously guard their way of life. Can mortals cheat Death and live forever? But how does one kill Death? By constructing artificial Reapers of course.The future is very Grim indeed. (Post-apocalyptic Reaper AU)
1. Prologue

It rains acid and ash on where London once stood; the air is thick and heavy with chemical fumes and radiation. Eric notes, for the umpteenth time, that his breathing apparatus prevents him from having a cigarette. He deserved one, he would argue, especially since this shift now clocked at 329 hours and counting.

A growl of irritation as he brushes the slime from his brow before it could burn his skin. A soft chime interrupts his thoughts.

"_Agent Slingby, report status and location."_

"Slingby, present on reconnaissance. Location one click west of Leicester." No life resided in Leicester anymore- then again no life resided in general outside of the Londinium Ark. No life but those that belonged to weary Reapers sent on long reconnaissance missions to map out what remained of their home after the fallout. They had to tread where even Demons had abandoned, in search of clusters of survivors- or missing fellow Agents.

"_Agent, your mission has been terminated. Please return to headquarters at once." _The soft, genteel voice did nothing but fuel his exasperation. There was no lovely lady on the other end of the line- just an A.I. crafted to handle communications.

"What the fuck do you mean my mission is terminated?! I'm working on-"

"_Your mission has been terminated. Please return to headquarters at once. Thank you, Agent Slingby."_

Eric clenches his fists, the leather creaking in protest as he swore up and down he would tear that fancy computer apart. He was still swearing by the time he returns to the decontamination chambers, throwing off his gear and snarling at the young attending Reapers as they scramble to take the equipment for cleaning.

_This is Spears' doing._ The Reaper redresses himself in his office uniform, daring anyone to question him as he strides straight into the Director's office.

"The _fuck_ do you mean by my mission is 'terminated'?" Eric slams his hands on William's desk, though to his credit the Director didn't flinch. He had grown accustomed to the older Reaper's outbursts centuries ago.

"Your mission," he began coolly, "has been terminated. In its place-"

"_No. NO._" Eric cuts him off, voice growing. "You do not just _terminate_ a case, _this_ case, _my_ case just because it hasn't been successful in under a month! The Pup is still out there somewhere, so help me Thanatos I will take that stick of yours and shove it-"

"You mistake my intentions." William holds up his hand, narrowing his eyes. "I know the retrieval of Agent Knox is paramount, and that is why-"

"Why what? Why you're calling off the search and leaving the kid to die out there instead of wasting precious Division time? Or worse- abandoning him so he can get diced up and shoved in an ice box for experimentation?"

Regret. Regret and shame at his barbed malice, spoken out of tired frustration and desperation. Eric closes his eyes, letting out a weary sigh.

"I'm sorry, Boss, that was out of line." He hadn't missed that flinch, that widening to his eyes and that short, sharp intake of breath. He had hit something; he had stabbed straight into a wound barely healed.

"I have terminated the case because I am creating a team and solely tasking them with retrieving Agent Ronald Knox." There was a strain in William's voice when he finally replies, choosing to ignore Eric's outburst. "You are to lead that team and shall not be given Field Duty until you have located and returned him to base."

"Yes sir."

"Agent Humphries, Coveney, Henley, Godfrey, Moloney, Carnegie and Aberdeen shall be under your command and the debriefing is at five tomorrow. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Dismissed."

* * *

She sleeps deep and undisturbed in the heart of the laboratory. He visits her every day if he can, and the scientists have long learned not to ask.

She sleeps, as she has been sleeping for the past 84 years, in her stasis pod with its sealed, frosted Perspex cover that displayed her bodily statistics. She sleeps and she won't ever wake up for this body is too damaged to ever heal.

A pair of Deathscythe scissors pierce her chest, her Cinematic Record wound around the flat side of the blades, unharmed and secure.

She will sleep until the Cybernetics Division has finished crafting a new body for her. The first of a new kind- provided the experiment is a success. There exists no control, there has been no prototype. Just her.

Just Grell Sutcliff.

He rests his palm atop her glass coffin, the Perspex lighting up and refreshing the statistics. A Reaper's heart did not beat, but they dreamed, as indicated by the brainwaves. Did she dream in her trapped body? Or did life seem to go on for her, unaware that she was trapped?

His fingers brush the outline of her brow, before he draws his hand away and steps back. The automated lights dim and the stasis pod hisses as it retreats into the wall.

"Pleasant dreams, Grell."


	2. All in the Mind

"_Good morning, Agent Knox. The time is seven o'clock, on December 27, year 2103."_

Ronald groaned, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes.

"Mornin' Sweets." Sitting up, he neglected to stifle a large yawn as he pawed the bedside table for his glasses. "Mind tellin' me what's my itinerary for the day?"

"_Before breakfast, Agent Knox?"_

"Ah so you _are_ learning my preferences." Ronald flashed the face on the screen a cheeky grin. "Are you taking a shine to me, sweetheart?" The A.I. blinked, taking a moment to choose a correct response.

"_I am your assigned assistant. I must learn your preferences in order to assist you proficiently." _

"I don't blame you," the Reaper continued as he rolled out of bed and managed to stumble to the bathroom, "I'm pretty likeable." He gave her a wink, chuckling as she simulated a demure blush.

"Put on my morning playlist and see if the Londinium bunch are up for a chat. What's the time over there, anyway?" He turned on the shower, groaning as the hot water eased the stiffness from his shoulders. Cheery music began to filter into the bathroom, followed by the pleasant metallic voice of his assistant.

"_It is currently 15:07 in Londinium. Agent Slingby is away on duty, as are Agents Humphries, Moloney and Aberdeen. Agent Carnegie is due to report in thirty-six minutes. Director Spears can be reached presently, but will be attending his weekly meeting in twenty-one minutes."_

"Any progress on Cap'n's case?" He wondered if robots could detect the desperation in his voice.

"_Agent Sutcliff is still in cryosleep. The latest progress report on the construction of an artificial body can be downloaded if you wish to read it."_

"Download it."

"_Yes sir."_

Ronald sighed, turning off the water and grabbing a towel.

"What's the latest update on her body?" He began to dress himself in the standard testing fatigues, wrinkling his nose at the dull green colouring.

"_The Cybernetics team have finalised the-"_

"No, actually I don't want an update from you." Ronald winced, trying to banish the images of his senior frozen in her glass coffin. If there had indeed been important progress, he didn't want to hear it from a robot. "Connect me to Director Spears."

"_Connecting. One moment, please."_ The screen faded to the Chambers Corporation logo; the gold phoenix encased in a gilt ruby. The blonde Reaper fought the childish urge to hurl an object at the screen. He hated what the world had become: slaves to a conglomerate profiting from their dependence.

"Agent Knox." The familiar face of his senior replaced the rotating emblem on the screen. A polite nod. "Good morning."

"Mornin' Boss. Sweets here tells me there's an update on Captain's body?" Ronald self-consciously fiddled with his collar. Even from across the distance he could feel his boss' judging gaze.

"Yes, they have finalized the internal framework of her body. The technicians have informed me the next step will be to complete the A.I. mainframe."

"Sssoooo she gets to wake up soon, right?" Ronald pressed, the technical language lost on him. "They're almost done?"

"Affirmative." A pause. "Unless there are complications once they try to transfer the soul into-"

"Finally." He cut him off, refusing to hear anything negative. It wasn't an option, not when he had emotionally invested himself in nothing less than the success of the project. "I'm really looking forward to having her back. I've missed her, y'know?"

He cleared his throat suddenly. "Anyway, I better get some fuel into me- I've got some fancy athletics course to clear this morning."

William nodded. There was a brief furrow to his brow.

"Thank you, Agent Knox. Your training in the Nova Albion facilities directly assists the programmers here working on Agent Sutcliff's body."

"I know." Ronald grinned, a little more cheer in his actions. "I know. I'll stay here as long as I'm needed, Boss. She's saved my sorry arse more times than I can remember. I'd-" He caught himself, wondering if he should continue.

"I'd do anything to get her back." His voice was bruised, barely containing the hurt inside.

"I will contact you if anything major occurs. Otherwise, report to me weekly as per usual. You are dismissed to your duties."

A mock salute. "Sure thing, Boss. Oh and give Eric hell for me, will ya? I can never catch him online. It's been almost a month and I haven't heard a peep! I know the bugger misses me."

"Dismissed, Knox. That means _leave._"

"Leaving!"

* * *

_**The neural link has been terminated.**_

"And the Reaper suspects nothing?"

_**Positive. The Reaper assumes he has been speaking with Director William T. Spears.**_

"The memory grafts have been successful?"

_**Positive. The Reaper assumes he volunteered to be transferred to the Nova Albion branch to assist the Cybernetics team by providing physical data.**_

"He remembers nothing of the kidnapping?"

_**Positive.**_

"Good. Continue harvesting data. I need to know how these creatures function before I orchestrate their downfall."


	3. Nevermore

Dr. Ashwood had a pet crow in his laboratory. Not a fancy Replicant from Tyrell Corporation with reflective pupils, no it was a _real_ crow made of flesh and feathers. When it wasn't perched on his shoulder as the mad genius flitted about his workspace, it lived in a huge wrought-iron cage.

Personally he found it eerie, for it had a habit of staring at each person as though it were watching them carefully. When someone spoke it would cant its head in their direction; when someone walked to another workstation it would look on until they reached their destination.

And the way Dr. Ashwood talked to it- no, _conversed_ with it made it seem as though the bird could understand human speech.

He shuddered, mentally preparing himself for the inevitable avian audience once he entered the laboratory.

"Dr. Ashwood, the programmers have sent a demo of the mainframe for you to test on the body." He held up the small cube as proof.

The man did not look up from where he was hunched over the unfinished android, huge brass goggles over his eyes and silver hair yanked into a tight, braided fishtail that draped down his back. His colleagues fancied him a caricature from a steampunk novella.

"Give it here, lad." He patted the stainless steel benchtop. Inevitably, as his feet moved, his eyes strayed to the perched crow. The doctor chuckled, a strange wheezing sound escaping his stretched lips.

"Oh, he doesn't bite, don't you worry that pretty head of yours. He's not interested in gobbling up human flesh." That did nothing to alleviate his fears, not when he felt ice up his spine the moment those red eyes fixed on him.

"But aren't crows carrions?" That stare went straight through his back and he made a mental note never to turn his back on it ever again.

"This one's…special." Dr. Ashwood cackled, opening the cage and coaxing the bird onto his hand. He thrust it towards him and he stumbled back. "He's a friendly chap, most of the time. Broods a lot; mostly sulking over his glory days. But he's old now, old like me."

Beady red eyes watched him, and suddenly he felt as though it were staring straight into his soul.

"U-uh, so what do you call him?" _Joke. Make a joke!_ "Poe?" He managed a weak grin, only to be tutted.

"Mr. Poe wrote about a _raven_, my good chap. This old relic here-" he poked the bird's side and earned a squawk of protest, "is a crow."

"O-Oh, right, uhm-"

"His name isn't Poe, or Edgar or something fancy like 'Nevermore'." He cooed, scratching it under the chin as one would a dog. "His name is _Sebastian."_


	4. A Little Bird Told Me

( FF won't allow me to format with colours and keeps mistaking the 'at' symbol for email links, so the twitter formatting doesn't show up properly. Apologies. This chapter also threads in headcanons that can be found in the 'Scrambled Scribblings' drabbles. )

* * *

_Saturday August 24, year 2019_

* * *

**Agent Mackenzie Godfrey** (JoinTheFrey)

*KnoxUrSox We're going out for drinks tonight. Meet at the pub at 8pm #overtimeblows #letsgetfuckingwasted #rascalpack

* * *

"Ronald if that thing goes off one more time, I'm pitching that into the Thames."

"Aw Cap'n, I'm makin' plans with the Pack!" Ronald pouted, tapping out a quick reply before stuffing the phone into his pocket. "What's with Boss makin' us trek all the way out here anyway? I thought Special Ops had it all sorted?" If there was one thing he hated most it was, of course, overtime.

"That's the thing, Ronnie," Grell sighed, "the Special Ops team deployed to check it out hasn't reported in 72 hours." She chewed her lip thoughtfully, tapping her phone for updates. "Will said we were the closest when the 72 hour mark hit so we've got to drop by and see what all the fuss is about."

Ronald groaned, shoulders slumping. A large, drab building loomed ahead.

"What's so special about this place anyway? Didn't it used to be an outpost for trainees?" He kicked a can out of the way as Grell took out her death list.

"Yes, they started it up during the early 1990s but abandoned it four years ago in favour of the new building." She hummed in thought as she scanned her list, noting it was blank. At least there weren't any pesky mortals up and about.

A brisk walk brought them to the entrance of the eerily silent building. For the life of him, Ronald couldn't understand why he suddenly felt queasy. His phone trilled in his pocket and he fished it out, stepping to the side to let his senior fiddle with the security entrance.

Grell bit the tip of her glove, pulling off the soft leather so she could place her finger on the small identification pad. A sharp sting flashed through her digit as a pin extracted a drop of blood.

'_Welcome, Agent Grell Sutcliff.' _

The doors hissed open and a wave of nausea hit her. The stench of decaying flesh and that unmistakable burn of hellfire; a fledgling nest. She realized, with bitter humor, why the Special Ops team had failed to report: the building was overrun with fledglings- at least a dozen of them. Judging by their auras, she could tell they were rabid with hunger, so much so that they had trapped their own maker within its defensive barricade.

"Oh my…" She smiled, adrenalin racing through her veins. "It seems I am the heroine of this tale afterall." Reaching for the control panel of the security entrance, she pierced her finger again and let another drop of blood hit the biometric identification pad.

"Security system override."

'_Prepared to receive.'_

"Initiate emergency lockdown procedure. All Agents ranked lower than Captain cannot be granted access." The window was slim. Once she moved her foot over the line of the doors all the fledglings would be alerted of her presence, but it was a risk she'd have to take. The higher ranked Demon was trapped inside and if she could break its barricade, its own fledglings would eat it alive.

'_Confirmed. Emergency lockdown procedure activated. '_

* * *

**Agent Eoghan Moloney** (ItsOwen)

*JoinTheFrey *JimJams *RyanInWait *KnoxUrSox *BrekkieWithTiff *PeterPatter Anyone already on their way? #imsofuckingdone #clockedoff #rascalpack

* * *

**Agent James Coveney** (JimJams)

*KnoxUrSox *BrekkieWithTiff *ItsOwen Me & Ryan already en route. You guys almost done? #hurrythefuckup #rascalpack

* * *

**Agent Tiffany Carnegie** (BrekkieWithTiff)

*JimJams *KnoxUrSox Dropped off last report with Pete, be there soon. Ron you with Red? #dontpaintthetown #wehavedrinkingtodo #rascalpack

* * *

**Agent Ronald Knox** (KnoxUrSox)

*JimJams *BrekkieWithTiff Last minute detour with Red won't take long. See you bastards soon #readytoget #fuckingwasted #rascalpack

* * *

Slipping the phone back into his pocket, Ronald laced his fingers behind his head and whistled a cheery tune. His senior was standing in the doorway, most likely surveying the scene.

"You gonna stand there all night, Cap'n?" He teased, snaking his arms around her waist from behind.

"Annette Worthington." Grell stated, a smile in her voice.

"Who?"

"The girl from General Affairs. _The_ girl from General Affairs. Her name is Annette Worthington." He could feel her trembling, and he frowned. "She's a sweet thing, who did her international placement in the Netherlands during the Puritan era. She loves Marguerite Daisies and sunflowers."

"Why are you telling me this?" Ronald fought the creeping panic brought on by her odd behaviour. "C'mon Cap'n, shove over so we can get this over and done with. I'll buy you a round tonight."

"Say hello to her tomorrow, alright? You've always thought you don't exist to her, but the truth is she's had a crush on you the moment you two met. And it's pathetic because you've had a crush on her since that moment too and neither of you have done anything about it for centuries."

"Cap'n, you're freaking me out. Move." He swallowed thickly, trying to nudge her.

"Be a good puppy and fetch William for me." Grell looked over her shoulder, winking at him before she stepped over the threshold. Ronald tried to follow and found himself bumping into a forcefield.

'_Unidentified Agent, you do not have the proper clearance to enter.'_

"Cap'n what the hell did you do?!" Ronald beat against the shield with a fist. "This isn't funny! Let me in!" A chorus of snarls arose from within, echoing in the hollowed building.

"GRELL! GRELL!" Ronald shouted, increasing the force of his beating. "GRELL DON'T DO THIS!"

'_Unidentified Agent, please vacate the premises.'_

The Red Reaper manifested her chainsaw, laughter bubbling from within as the first few twisted fledglings crawled out of the shadows.

"I am a first rate Actress. This is my finale and I will make it a glorious one." She blew Ronald a kiss. "Now make sure William is here to see it."


	5. And All the King's Men

**To the Directors of Divisions worldwide,**

**This notice is to inform you of a worldwide catastrophe set to occur on September 7, 2019 at 13:00 GMT. All Agents and interns are to be called into action for mass reaping. Please ensure your teams are battle ready.**

**Nightkeepers must be stationed solidly at each Division border for foul play is easily initiated during chaotic times.**

**Creche-tenders are to escort all Reaperlings to the safehouses for immediate lockdown at 10:00 on the day of the event.**

**Engineering must be ready to dispatch Scythe support at moment's notice.**

**The Medical Division must dispatch Field support as well as prepare all wards for incoming injured.**

**This event requires relentless attention to detail from each and every Reaper. Orders are not to be questioned. Best of luck to you all.**

**Regards,**

**The Board.**

* * *

In an hour this letter would be forwarded to every Reaper around the world. William set the letter down, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly. His predecessors had maneuvered through revolutions and wars, but never had an event affected Reapers on such a global scale.

He could hear his secretaries answering calls, frantically waving down Agents close by who could speak a certain language or particular dialect if they themselves could not speak it. No doubt the other Directors were calling each other just to make sure the news they had received was indeed correct.

"Director Spears, I have relayed to the office staff that this letter is the same in every Division. They are diverting all other calls to General Affairs."

"Thank you Emily." He massaged his temples. "Honestly. I do not know if we are ready for this."  
"No one is ready for this, sir." She replied firmly. "But your Agents have every faith in you, as do I. You would not be where you are now if you were inadequate as a leader."

Executive Assistant Emily Petherbridge; William had, more than once, entertained the thought that without her the Division would fall.

"Now, I-"

"BOSS!" Ronald barged into his office, doubling over for breath as he reached the desk.

"Agent Knox, are you alright?" Emily asked, hastily pouring him a glass of water from the pitcher on William's desk. "You're as pale as a ghost!" His hand shook as he lifted the glass, chattering against his teeth as he slugged back the water.

"Cap-Grell! Special Ops-" Ronald could hear his heart pounding furiously and he gripped the table for support. "Fledging nest! We walked into a fucking fledgling nest and she's in there!" He dropped the glass in his haste to grab William by his lapels, shaking him.

"_She's locked herself in a den!_" The younger Reaper shouted, eyes wide with fear. "Boss you have to send higher ranked Agents, she's locked me out!"

William felt his blood run cold.

"Emily, send for Captains Slingby and Godfrey, and Medics Coveney and Henley. I will accompany them to the scene. Meanwhile, the office is in your care." She straightened, saluting.

"Yessir."

* * *

The stench hit him long before the visuals reached his eyes. 'Pure carnage' was the best he could manage to describe both the scent and the scene simultaneously. Blood was splashed liberally against most surfaces, smelling of hellfire and rot. William felt ill, not due to the chunks of hellish flesh, but by the fact he could not find Grell in the immediate vicinity.

He heard a few _Gàidhlig_ profanities exchanged before Agent Mackenzie Godfrey's voice called out.

"Medics! Director! Over here!"

The deep, cold pit in his chest already knew what he would find, but he kept his composure. He was the Director. He owed Grell at least a dignified façade.

She was splayed on a flight of stairs in a puddle of blood and mangled feathers. The Medics were crouched over her, methodically stripping her of clothing so they could reach her wounds.

"Gently, boys." Grell breathed, startling them all. "Undress a lady with a bit of care if you please."

"Red, _amadain na galla!" _Eric cursed, dropping to his knees and squeezing her hand. "What mess have you gotten yourself into this time?" She laughed, blood bubbling from her lips.

"Captain, please don't-" Ryan's hands shook as he tilted her head to the side so she could spit it out. "Please don't talk. We're going to patch you up and get you back to base, alright?"

"No."

"_Yes_, Grell. Don't you fucking argue with us!" Eric snarled, though his grip on her hand hadn't loosened.

"We're due at the pub and are late because of you so kindly shut up so we can fix you up." James pretended to scold, hands deftly working as fast as he could manage to clean her multiple wounds. Parts of her were slashed to the bone, the ivory peeking out from the flesh.

"William?" She tried to raise her other hand, only managing to make a beckoning gesture with her fingers. "Will, sweetheart come here please?"

"I'm here." He fell to one knee, taking her hand in his. "I'm right here."

"Good." Grell closed her eyes, smiling. "I knew you would come." Her lips pursed tightly to hide their trembling, her brows creased with pain. "Of all the times to be late, though." Eric managed a short bark of laughter at her dark humour.

"Now boys, we all know I'm not getting out of this one." She spoke to them as though they were all Reaperlings, tone patient and firm despite their immediate protests. "I've been had at every angle and unfortunately my stamina couldn't keep up with multiple partners."

"Stop it," William grit his teeth, "stop spouting such nonsense. The medics will stabilize you and we'll take you to the Infirmary immediately."

"I'm afraid I was never good at following your orders, Will my love." She was still smiling despite the severity of her injuries. "Be a dear and make this quick, will you?"

Her fingers brushed his lips before she cupped his cheek. He was finding it hard to focus on her face, vision blurred.

"No. I will not Reap you, I am taking you back and we will fix you and you will-"

"Boss." A hand squeezed his shoulder firmly, before Mackenzie placed a book in his view. "She's ready."

_Grell Sutcliff, 20:47 August 24,2019  
Death by Exsanguination_

Her breathing grew laboured by the minute, the exertion clearly exhausting her.

"Let me go, Will. Please let me go. This is a beautiful death."

"Out of the question." He picked up her tattered coat from nearby, emptying all the pockets. "I received an announcement from The Board today informing me of a worldwide catastrophe that requires every Agent to be on duty. That includes you. I will not assign overtime to everyone just because you refuse to come to work." A pair of rose clippers clattered to the floor and William snatched them up.  
"You are going to live. I am not weathering the centuries without your constant pestering, do you understand?"

"Will, you're making an awful mess of your love confession." Grell blinked slowly at him, tired tears rolling down her grimy cheeks.

"I need you." William drew back his arm before bringing the rose clippers down with all the force he could muster, straight into her chest. She screamed in agony, strips of Cinematic Record rushing out.

Eric and Mackenzie drew their Scythes, ready to wrangle the strips into a record book. But the records never reached them. Instead the records were wound tightly against the flat of the rose clipper's blades, preventing them from being pulled or cut, before William secured the DeathScythe in her chest.

The Agents could only stare at their Director in utter bewilderment.

"Boss-"

"Get her to the Infirmary." He rasped, throat dry with the effort of keeping his composure. "I will not be disobeyed."


	6. It's a Shame She Won't Live

**First point of business**: Disarm the snarling Slingby and force him to dismiss the Deathscythe.

**Second point of business**: Calm the snarling Slingby down and ply him with alcohol and/or intimacy.

**Precaution**: Try to avoid sustaining injuries whilst attempting to execute both points.

Eric Slingby was presently mouthing off and gesturing wildly in fury, Deathscythe in hand as Alan sidestepped him to avoid being sliced.

"Eric, you know William was thinking on his feet-"

"No, he wasn't bloody thinking at _all!_" A long string of _Gàidhlig_ expletives followed and Alan surprised himself when he recognised a few of them.

"You know what Grell means to him." He was going to reason with Eric, his temper be damned. Cold hard facts should be used to douse the fire. "He didn't want her to die and he acted impulsively to stave off her Reaping."

"But you didn't _see _her, Alan, she was-" Eric faltered, fumbling for words, "she was _broken_ and in so much pain. She was suffering with each breath and Mack and I were ready to Reap her. She didn't deserve to be forced to linger."

"No Reaper does and I don't agree with what William did but at the time he thought it best."

"What's best for her is if she died and we Reaped her soul and let her rest for good!" He spat, glaring at his partner.

"You didn't Reap _me_ when I was suffering," Alan mentioned quietly, "and you killed innocent people because you thought it would save my life."

The Deathscythe was dismissed and Eric sank into a chair. Alan finally judged him safe enough to approach, leaning down to cup his cheek and press a kiss to his lips.

"You did what you thought was best for me, even when I begged otherwise." He straddled his lap, coaxing Eric to press his ear to his chest. "I'm still here because you told me you couldn't live without me. William can't live without Grell- we all know that."

"Funny how he's never told Red that." Eric grumbled, though he closed his eyes at Alan's touch.

"That's why he wants to save her- so he can tell finally tell her." He smoothed Eric's hair and rested his cheek atop his head. "You fought to save me and I don't doubt for a moment that William won't do the same for Grell."

* * *

"There's only so much Starlight I can give her, William, before her records deteriorate." Doctor Farrough explained, gesturing at the body on the operating table. "We've staved off the bleeding internally and closed up all her wounds but her records are already showing spots and scratches."

The vials on the stainless steel trolley emitted a soft, warm glow and beside them rested Dr Farrough's Deathscythe on a tray, ready and within reach.

"Is she in pain?" William squeezed her hand, reluctant to release it from his tight grip.

"Not at all, lad," Charles soothed, "but we're not sure she'll ever awaken- not with the damage her body's sustained. The moment we remove the Deathscythe from her chest, her records will look for something else to latch onto."

The Doctor approached him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Lad, she has a day or three at the very most in this state. Say your goodbyes and let her go. You know she deserves her rest."

William stood, clenching his jaw tightly.

"I will not let her die. Give me 24 hours and I will return with a solution."

"Not an hour more, William." Charles nodded. "Now go outside and send that Pup back to his kennel. I've been listening to him pawing the door and pacing outside for hours now."

* * *

The only mess bigger than Ronald Knox was his phone. The hallway was littered with the innards of his phone after the young Reaper had hurled it at the wall in utter self-disgust.

William stepped over a few pieces before forcefully pulling the boy into a standstill.

"Knox. I ordered you and the others to take the rest of the day off."

"Fuck you." He spat, eyes burning with barely restrained tears. "I'm not leaving her. Not when she's all cut up because of me."

"You notified me as fast as possible and I both dispatched and accompanied the most capable Reapers." William explained, trying to placate the emotional Reaper. Ronald sat down heavily and buried his face in his hands. The leather gloves looked as though he'd chewed them in an effort to keep himself quiet.

"She told me to stop tweeting and I didn't, I answered my bloody phone and she went on ahead and then-"

"She is your Senior, Agent Knox, of course she went on ahead." Logic was much easier to revert to, William found, when emotions were too fragile a mess to repair. "You know as well as I do that Sutcliff is as stubborn as they come. She would have found a way to barricade you outside for your own safety."

"Through all the years I have known her, I know her to be a narcissistic, stubborn, maddening creature- except when she cares for someone. Then she is fiercely, even destructively protective of them." Admitting it felt wrong for some reason and William found his throat awfully tight. "She is, in an emotional, passionate way, more human than humans but-"

Ronald got to his feet, lunging for William's shoulders.

"Say that again."

"What?"

"That last part."

"More human than humans." William repeated slowly, furrowing his brows at Ronald's wide-eyed stare.

"That's it. That's it! That's bloody it!" Ronald laughed suddenly, a few tears escaping his hold and running down his cheeks. "Agent Hayashida- Sally- some Yutani over in Japan- that whole Nexus6 incident over at- and then they could- all their work on Replicants and fancy robots and interstellar travel and and and- they have those cryostasis pods-!"

"_Breathe_, Knox." The Director gave him a good shake out of his rambling.

"We can save her, Boss, we can save her!" Ronald almost shouted, a thread of joy in the waver of his voice.

"Tyrell Corporation. More Human than Human. If we can't save her in this body, we'll just build her another one."


	7. Anomalies

To: William T. Spears / London Dispatch

From: Hayashida Saori / Tokyo Dispatch

Subject: RE: Tyrell Corporation

* * *

In response to your request, I have forwarded all files pertaining Eldon Tyrell and Tyrell corporation. My advice is to gather all required information as soon as possible. We granted him an extension to his life three decades ago but now his death date approaches.

As for Tyrell's Replicants, we have discovered the advanced Nexus models hold anomalies in their coding- something akin to emotions or perhaps even fragments of souls. Your theory of soul implantation is not too far a stretch from their current memory inception.

Eldon is not difficult to deal with if one approaches conversation from a scientific point of view. It is not him you should be cautious around; be careful of his protégé Peter Weyland. The man is young and cocky and I would go so far as to say full of hubris.

His intentions teeter on the edge of madness and greatness. Extend his life so can better humanity with his genius but keep a close watch.

Peter has worked here in Tokyo with Yutani Corporation's Cybernetics Division. They seek to build androids indistinguishable from humans. Who knows where this will lead?

Regards,

Hayashida Saori

Special Operations, Tokyo Dispatch


	8. Madness or Greatness

_15:56 August 25, 2019_

_Tyrell Corporation, Los Angeles, United States of America_

* * *

The invention of holographic communication drastically reduced travel time, as the world discovered, and William approved of its use within the Division as soon as it became feasible. He was grateful for it today, of all days, as pressing matters meant he had little time to spare to travel to America. He hazarded a guess Doctor Tyrell had little time to spare for him either.

He placed the helmet on and stood still, allowing the technicians to activate the program and connect him to the waiting room. A bright flash of light caused a moment of discomfort before his eyes adjusted to his simulated surroundings.

A young man greeted him with a polite nod.

"Welcome, Director. My mentor is tending to, ah- more _pressing_ matters. He will be with you shortly." Every inch of the man was brimming with confidence, from the way he stood tall and straight-backed, to the way he smiled faintly as though all his plans were coming to fruition. "In the meanwhile, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Peter Weyland."

"William Spears, Director of the London Division." He accepted the gloved hand, feeling the pressure of a handshake simulated by electrodes in the leather.

"Ah yes, my mother told me all about your kind." A wry smile. "Now what could us mere mortals offer you creatures of death and decay? You could do with a dose of your own medicine."

"One of our Agents was gravely injured yesterday and I come bearing a business and scientific proposition I believe interests both Doctor Tyrell and yourself."

"And what does this Agent mean to you?" A voice behind him asked.

"Everything."

"As Peter asked," Eldon shook William's hand firmly, "what can we mere mortals offer you?"

"A body. I require a new body for her." The doctor narrowed his eyes at William.

"You would give your Agent to us willingly, knowing full well we are men with an insatiable thirst for knowledge? We will know everything about your kind."

"I will do all that is possible to ensure she lives." William said firmly, and earned a scoff from the younger man.

"Sentimentality was not a quality I expected of you, Director."

"I will cover all costs personally, and more importantly- I will give you crucial information about an impending event." Both men were silent, until Peter hesitantly asked.

"You will allow us to…_elude _Death?"

"Just the once." William met their surprised gazes with one that allowed no argument. Mentally, he had stopped listing all the regulations he had broken if only because he knew he would break even more very soon.

"We will do this project in two ways," Eldon began suddenly, lavishing attention on the owl perched by his desk, "Peter is working with a Japanese company to build artificial beings. This interests me very little, though it seems it would serve your needs better. You need a replicated_ shell_ rather than a complete clone. Your Agent already has memories and a soul- I am not sure I could implant a soul into a Replicant but we have never had the chance to try."

The owl turned its head and stared at William, blinking slowly. The light reflected an eerie glow over its pupils, though it reacted affectionately to its owner's touches.

"Peter is still a ways off from perfecting his machines. Give me a soul- a, what do you call it? A Cinematic Record and I will put it into a Replicant with no set biological clock. We shall see if the soul can control the body."

"For research purposes and practicality she will be housed in the London branch of Weyland Corporation but we will begin work in my San Francisco laboratories." The protégé began to pace, taking out a handheld device and tapping instructions to his team.

"Provided the information you divulge is of any use to us. There is no guarantee what you will tell us is true, Director." Eldon tisked, and William pursed his lips at the unvoiced accusation he would lie. Honestly, what did they take him for? A _demon_?

"Tyrell has a meteorology branch, does it not?" William asked tersely. "What have they to say about the sun's activities recently?"

"That the sun is rather turbulent as of late." The doctor replied slowly, trying to read him.

"On September 7 at precisely 13:00 hours there will be a solar flare of such magnitude 98.796% of technology will fail. People will die by the millions from that day onwards." William let that sink in before continuing. "For both our interests I suggest undertaking measures to protect your companies from nuclear fallout and social collapse."

Both men looked at him, utterly bewildered. The mentor spoke first.

"Most major cities in first world countries have nuclear barriers already in place but not all have self-sustained atmosphere generators."

"But you do."

"Yes we do." Peter puffed his chest a little, eyes wide like a madman struck with genius.

"Bring me a record, Director," Eldon ordered, "and I will send Peter to London. He can meet you and retrieve the body of your Agent. Keep her cold- very, very cold, and in a decontamination chamber if you can."

"I will have it delivered by the hour and shall await your arrival, Mr. Weyland." William bowed low, one hand crossed over his chest. "Thank you for your time, Doctor Tyrell." He turned and exited the office, glancing briefly at the woman standing patiently by the door. Her eyes met his for a moment, and he was struck by how sad she seemed despite her demure smile.

* * *

"It's not every day you bargain with death and come out on top." Peter mused, smiling at his mentor.

"Or discover the price of an immortal soul." Eldon took a seat at his desk, bringing up the holographic interface of his computer. Peter lost his smile, scoffing in disgust.

"Our lives are worth so little to them. Why can't immortality be ours? We are advancing rapidly and are our race is infinitely superior to other living beings." Eldon chuckled, chiding him as gently as a father would to his son.

"We are candles, Peter. We light the world with our achievements and advancements. We kindle the flames of the next generation- that is our immortality. We are gods among men."

"With all due respect, sir, I disagree. If death can bargain with us once, we can raise the stakes higher next time." Peter smiled triumphantly. "Afterall, we will have the most important bargaining chip of all- one of their own."


	9. Briar Rose

Leaving her side had not been an option, much to the frustration of the staff. William accompanied her from the Division Infirmary to the heavily armoured transportation device, walking alongside before sitting beside the decontamination cell. It was used for Agents infected with demonic or angelic blood, but for now it was a makeshift cryostasis pod. William's palm had not moved from where it rested on the Perspex lid.

Doctor Charles Farrough looked at him with a mixture of pity and anger. No one had ever willingly subjected a Reaper to human study. William was handing one over with no delay.

Peter Weyland was there to greet them, wearing the same triumphant smile that was beginning to irritate William. He strode purposefully ahead, all the while chatting to them both about the state-of-the-art facilities his corporation invented.

"She will stay in here." Peter announced, activating the biometric security access pad. Heavy doors slid open and a clean white and blue laboratory was revealed. All the staff wore labcoats and stood in a row, bowing in unison to greet them.

"I've improved the cryostasis pods Tyrell uses for space travel so she will have vital support whilst she sleeps." Weyland gestured at the staff to come forward and wheel the decontamination cell to the awaiting open pod. "As our technology inevitably advances, the system will be updated to allow for the best of care whilst we work on the construction of her body."

"She will have no heartbeat to monitor," Charles informed him, "for when we sleep our hearts and lungs are still. Measure her brain activity very carefully though. That will be the only indication you will have that she lives."

"And the scissors, Doctor?" One of the staff asked curiously.

"Leave it. Under no circumstances should that be moved, let alone extracted." Charles stated firmly and the woman nodded in understanding. Clearing his throat, Peter clapped his hands once.

"Alright, now come say your goodbyes. The sooner we transfer her to a proper stasis pod, the better."

Charles stepped forward to assist the medical and scientific staff, unlocking the decontamination cell and scooping up the limp body as carefully as one would a child. Slowly lowering her into the stasis pod, Charles held her steady whilst the staffs were quick to intubate her hands.

"William, come here." Charles indicated with a tilt of his head. "There is no certainty this will work. If it does not, then this is the last time you will come into contact with her. Do you understand?"

He let the words seep into his mind and bury deep into his memory. Something cold and icy filled his veins and made his heart quicken painfully. Was there a chance this madness could work? Or had he simply lost his mind with grief, willing to try desperately and destructively to hang on to someone the embodiment of all his emotional regrets?

She lay still, so very still, and the cold had stolen the colour from her skin. Her lips were a purplish tinge, parted slightly to reveal her pointed teeth. Those lips had stolen many kisses from him in the past: playful kisses, tender kisses, chaste kisses, frustrated kisses, kisses he had never returned but neither had he spurned them entirely.

It seemed fit he steal one now- the first one and the last one and perhaps the only one. Leaning down, he caught her cold lips in a kiss and a part of him wished all those childish fairytales she treasured were true and she would open her eyes and giggle and tell him she had been right all along and he was her true love and true love's kiss had woken her and true love conquered all.

But she didn't wake when he drew back. She didn't stir when the lid closed and sealed her inside. She didn't move and she wouldn't move ever again in this body and William felt a part of him was cold and dead and sealed in that glass coffin within her.


	10. The Great Dying

_13:00 September 6, 2019_

**To:** Administration, Field, Medical, Engineering, Academy, Nursery

**From:** William. / London Dispatch

**Subject:** Communications

In 24 hours all communicative technology shall fail. Please resort to using the standard issue telegraphic journals to convey messages. No technology is to be used until the solar flare has ceased and Weyland Industries re-route all lines of communication.

Obey your senior officer and stay alert.

-Director William T. Spears

* * *

September 8, 2019

Agent Casualty Report: 10 records submitted. Refer to Administration for more detail.

Mortal Death Counter: 802,475. Refer to Archives for more detail.

* * *

September 9, 2019

Ron, don't leave before getting your shots from us Medics

-Ryan

* * *

September 29, 2019

Ron I need an extra fielder. Man down.

-Tiff

* * *

October 14, 2019

Agent Casualty Report: 180 records submitted. Refer to Administration for more detail.

Mortal Death Counter: 2,623,091. Refer to Archives for more detail.

* * *

November 1, 2019

Peter, Engineering needs to get their arse here. Send an Alchemist, the radiation is fiddling with the Grey Metal.

-Mack

* * *

November 1, 2019

James we need Medics on the frontline

-Eoghan

* * *

Agent Casualty Report: 201 records submitted. Refer to Administration for more detail.

Mortal Death Counter: 18,302,619. Refer to Archives for more detail.

* * *

December 21, 2019

Drawn Christmas duty. Need a respirator and new field suit. Fuck my life.

-Ron

* * *

December 21, 2019

Agent Knox please refrain from using expletives. Field Agent journals broadcast on all channels.

-Spears

* * *

_18:40 December 23, 2019_

**To:** William. / London Dispatch

**From:** Admin / Weyland Industries

**Subject:** Communications

All lines active, Director Spears.

-Angela Bishop

* * *

_18:41 December 23, 2019_

**To:** William. / London Dispatch

**From:** èbvre / Paris Dispatch

**Subject:** Field Agents

Director Spears, I know you are certainly having troubles of your own, but we are humbly requesting a small team of 50 Agents to be dispatched to Paris to aid our team.

-Olivier Lefèbvre

* * *

_18:42 December 23, 2019_

**To:** William. / London Dispatch

**From:** / Belfast Dispatch

**Subject:** Field Agents

Director Spears, I am sending you 25 Agents to aid in the influx of suicides due over Christmas

-Seamus O'Laughlin

* * *

_18:43 December 23, 2019_

**To:** William. / London Dispatch

**From:** / Glasgow Dispatch

**Subject:** Field Agents

Spears, we can loan you 30 Agents over Christmas but they better be back before the year turns.

-Alasdair McKinnon

* * *

_18:45 December 23, 2019_

**To:** William. / London Dispatch

**From:** Admin / London Dispatch

**Subject:** Testing

Testing internal mail, Director.

-Annette Worthington

* * *

_19:57 December 23, 2019_

**To:** William. / London Dispatch

**From:** Archives / London Dispatch

**Subject:** Casualty Reports

All Agent Casualty Reports have been transferred into the digital archives and future reports can be submitted digitally.

-Spencer Elderton

* * *

_19:57 December 23, 2019_

**To:** William. / London Dispatch

**From:** Peter / Weyland Industries

**Subject:** Merry Christmas

I've been informed communication is online again. Merry Christmas, Director, and a Happy Radioactive Reaping to your Agents for the slaughtering yet to come.

-Peter

P.S. Tyrell Corporation has been officially absorbed by Weyland Industries and my mentor's technological advancements shall be put to use making your killer a machine for a body.


	11. Silent Night

_09:05 December 25, 2018_

"Today is Christmas and for my present I want a kiss." She states it as though it were a decree to be obeyed by all, though William shall have none of it.

"You put that mistletoe under my doorway." Not a question.

"Actually no, I didn't." She drapes herself against the doorway and taps the mistletoe above with an amused poke. "Eric did because he knew Alan would be running in and out of here to give you your papers. He accidentally caught Ronnie under it and Emily saw and demanded he follow Christmas protocol and now the two of them can't look each other in the eye. Don't bring it up with either of them or they'll be useless to you for the rest of the day."

Too much information. William sighs, massaging his temples. Grell stands, cocking her hip and crossing her arms.

"Well? My Christmas present. Right here." She taps her lips and pouts at him.

"That is not how it works." He turns his attention back to his paperwork and Grell whines.

"But I want a kiss for Christmas and it's the only present I'll ever get from you!"

"Aside from the night off." William corrects. "And this." He retrieves a box from his drawer and places it on his desk, pushing it forward in a gesture for her to take it. She looks at him as though he's suddenly sprouted another head.

"You bought me a gift."

"I did. I shall state that it was quite a task finding it."

Grell approaches his desk as though she were approaching a cornered animal, hand darting to snatch the box and tear off the wrapping.

"Oh. _Oh._" She sits heavily in the nearby chair, carefully easing the teacup out of the soft papers and air pillows. "The Royal Albert-"

"-Masquerade Rose teacup and saucer set." William finishes for her. "Crafted for limited release in the 1950s, using the smooth shape as opposed to the Avon or Malvern shape."

"These are only seen in museums or private collections now." She whispers, tracing the black handle almost reverently. "You must have paid through the roof for this. Oh I shall treasure it and keep it safe for centuries to come!"

"No you shall not, for it will be staying with me." He declares firmly and she gives him a puzzled look.

"I can't take my own present home?"

"No. It is to be used on Sundays when we have breakfast together. I realised my cups were not suited to your tastes-"

"They're all black!"

"-so I thought to remedy this by purchasing a cup you would approve of using."

Grell gives him that smile, the very one that messes up his breathing and heart-rate and muddles his thoughts. Her eyes look wet and her lip trembles as she rests the cup to her cheek.

"My very own cup at your place. That makes it rather permanent, you know." She's still giving him that smile and his thoughts are still ever so muddled.

"Yes, I do consider our Sundays to be a permanent fixture in my schedule."

* * *

_09:01 December 25, 2019_

"I know it is Wednesday today, but it is also Christmas so I thought you would not mind." He carefully unpacks the rose teacup and saucer, placing it atop the Perspex. A plain black set with gold rims soon joined it.

The room fills with the sound of tea-making, joining the steady thrum of machinery.

"Crème Brûlée tea. It is the last of this box, though I do have another on order." He pours her a cup before filling his own. She says nothing.

"I have not the luxury of time this morning. Plenty of work- triple of what the Division has faced on Christmas in the past. And you're slacking off, yet again." A sigh before he picks up his cup and blows on the tea to cool it.

"You will be pleased to know Ronald's borrowed knack of giving everything absurd names has not dulled. His term 'The Great Dying' has caught on and I can do nothing to banish it."

A staff member passes them, and they give him a pitying look before hurrying away.

"Eric put the mistletoe up again and I have resorted to ordering everything to be submitted digitally so Alan can actually perform his tasks without walking under it. Miss Emily scolded me for it but I told her I needed my workers to remain efficient and on time."

Her tea remains untouched, the steam dissipating quickly in the chilled room. Its sweetness almost masks the sharp scent of disinfectant in the sterile chamber.

"Please drink your tea before it becomes tepid." It's a whispered plea, one he hadn't meant to make aloud, one that sounds pathetic and revolting to his ears. His mind is muddled and his breathing and heart-rate are a mess but she's not smiling at him. In fact she's not doing anything at all, remaining still and unmoving in her stasis pod.

The tea is too hot, he thinks, far too hot. It burns his tongue, making him gasp and bring tears to his eyes.

Yes, that must be it. The tea is far too hot.


	12. Sorrow for the Lost Lenore

_17:45 September 6, 2019_

_Cordelia's, St Martin's Lane, London_

* * *

Down on St Martin's Lane existed a café frequented by Londoners both mortal and immortal. It served perfectly crafted desserts, pastries and baked treats alongside every tea imaginable- or coffee if you so preferred. The servingware were all either priceless antiques from Houses such as Royal Albert, Wedgwood and Aysnley.

The café owner was a tall, dark-haired man in his mid-twenties who stood with a formal posture, and spoke with utmost politeness and a charming smile. He was also a Demon.

"Mr. Bastian, sir?" One of the butlers asked for his attention, and he set down the teacup he had been polishing.

"Yes, Jonathan?"

"There's a man on table 6 asking for you personally, sir." The young butler offered him a small bundle wrapped with a kerchief. "Said you'd recognise this?"

He folded back the linen to reveal a gingerbread biscuit shaped like a bone. It brought an immediate smile to his lips, and after dismissing the boy back to his duties, he set about preparing his guest a pot of tea and a platter of madeleines.

"The Wedgwood Astbury? Why, you shouldn't have!" The silver fair man laughed as the butler presented him with the antique china. He traced the delicate painted gold, classical Grecian figure with a black polished nail. "How very devilish of you. You _know_ I really didn't convince him to kidnap Helene?"

"I apologise, sir, I know not how to address you. It has been some time since last we met."

"After the war, wasn't it? Lady Ethel Middleford's marriage? No, Lady Elizabeth's funeral a week later." He held the cup at eye level, admiring the design. "You can call me Dr. Sydney Ashwood, Mister _Michael Bastian_." It elicited a chuckle from the café owner, who took a seat opposite the man who once was the Undertaker of London.

"A café run by the finest butler of Victorian times, with staff comprised of butlers and maids in perfectly tailored attire." Sydney nibbled a madeleine before dipping it into his tea. "Patrons can expect perfectly brewed tea in the finest servingware."

"Old habits die hard, Dr. Ashwood." Michael smiled. The Reaper leaned forward, curling his fingers beneath the Demon's chin and coaxing him closer.

"You'll start a scandal about us, old friend."

"Oh I do hope so." A sharp grin full of mischief. "And my, you wear his eyes so very well. Eyes like sapphires instead of garnets. The perfect disguise."

"The residual traces of the Earl's soul have left rather interesting side effects, I do admit, but much to my advantage." He pulled away and sat back, noting how the school-aged female patrons a few tables away were giggling madly and smiling at them. "What is the reason for your visit, Dr. Ashwood?"

"The pretty red Juliet spoke of you often. I thought I'd see this quaint little café for myself." He looked around before ducking his head under the table. "And the lovely black feline?"

"Selene is asleep on a patron's lap. Mrs. Thompson is very fond of her." He watched the Reaper carefully, narrowing his eyes for a moment. "What is the real reason for your visit, Reaper?"

"Your cat, see the way her hackles are raised? She can feel it. Can't you?" Sydney cocked a brow. "Don't tell me the Earl's humanity has dulled your senses? I expect better of you, dear old friend." He grabbed the Demon's chin and yanked him forward. "Something is coming, Demon. Death. Death to _millions_ of lives."

"If you think I shall gorge myself like a worthless, starving fledgling you are mistaken." He hissed, but Sydney only tightened his hold on his face, digging his claw-like nails into his skin.

"This isn't some plague or inquisition. This is astronomic. The sky will fall tomorrow, Demon." Sydney warned. "I tell you this only because I have plans and they involve you alive."

"What do you want of me? I shall not hunger for at least half a century. His soul will sustain me. I have no need to contract another mortal."

"Tomorrow I leave for the East, to where the sun rises." He shifted his grip to a gentler caress, leaning to close the distance between them and catch his lips in a kiss. "Come with me, _Malphas_."

Suddenly he let him go and sat back, picking up his teacup and draining it. The Demon gritted his teeth before scowling at him.

"You are calling on your favour now?"

"Yes. Come with me by the morrow. I won't repeat myself." Sydney placed a few bills on the table before beckoning him to redress him in his coat. "Heathrow, 12:30pm. Emirates, private chartered jet, London to Narita."

Michael smoothed the creases from Sydney's coat before brushing his shoulders. A curious smile was on his lips.

"A Devil's bargain is the reason you've coming tapping at my chamber door?"

"Only this," Sydney laughed, "and nothing more."


	13. The Sky is Falling

_12:30 September 7, 2019_

_Heathrow Airport, London_

* * *

"Excuse me sir?" A small voice asked, drawing Alan out of his thoughts. A little girl's hand was placed over his own.

"Yes, little Miss?"

"My doll's shoe rolled under your seat. May I have it, please?" A plump ragdoll was tucked under her arm and she gestured at the bare limb before pointing at his chair.

"Of course." He smiled, reaching to pluck the black mary-jane and offer it to the child. "And where are you and your dolly off to today?"

"We're going to visit Auntie in Killarney!"

"Are you now? That sounds very exciting." He helped ease the shoe back onto the doll's foot.

"It isn't really," The girl sighed, twirling the yarn hair adorning the doll's head, "but I do love Auntie lots and she has a funny shaggy dog that's fun to play with!"

Her mother called for her, gesturing for her to hurry on so they could board the plane.

"Bye bye, Mister!"

"Goodbye, Miss Susan Geraghty." She gave him a puzzled look, but smiled nonetheless, before bounding off to her mother's side.

"Susan Geraghty, aged six years, eight months and two days." Tiffany read from her book. "Scheduled to die in a plane crash due to engine failure."

"Six years old." Alan watched as she turned and gave him one last wave before disappearing through the doors. "She's barely started her life."

"I don't like this, Senior." Tiffany clenched her hands into fists, shaking her head. "I know it isn't my place, but that plane holds 147 people. That's 147 lives whose last moments will be in maddening fear and hysteria."

"One plane, Agent Carnegie. _All_ those planes will fall. Each plane with 130-150 souls, will fall and crash and take even more souls with them." His book open on his lap, Alan watched as name after name began to appear.

"It isn't right." She shook her hand, teeth gritted. "No one deserves to die this way. Not screaming and begging for their life, drowning in their regrets and missed opportunities."

"And that deep, dark realisation that there is no way out. That this will truly be the end." Alan knew it all too well.

'_Now boarding all remaining seats'_

Tiffany stood and took a deep breath.

"That's our call, sir." He nodded, before giving her hand a squeeze. When had Little Tiff grown into Agent Tiffany Carnegie? The sole female in the Rascal Pack, and perhaps Alan's fondest favourite; Tiffany with her milk coffee skin and cloudy hair and lightning reflexes.

"I'm going to Reap them all when they fall asleep." She steeled her jaw. "I don't care that it isn't protocol and you can report me to the Board. But I'm going to Reap them before they crash. No one deserves to die like that."

"I've a feeling all the commotion following the flare will render this a minority incident; easily overlooked." Alan replied, taking his seat beside her on the plane.

It was easy to wash a soft wave of tiredness over the mortals, easing them into a deep sleep. A trick even an Academy student knew, for particularly stubborn humans.

Tiffany conjured her scythe. "Ready?"

He nodded, and she swept her scythe over a row of seats. Pulling the souls cleanly from their bodies so no wounds appeared meant that the mortals simply died in their sleep. He cut the records cleanly and coaxed them into their logbooks.

The souls in the cockpit were the last and once the Captain's soul had been taken, the plane lurched into a freefall. Alan grabbed Tiffany's hand and vanished back to the airport. Their next mission would be out on the tarmac, where that very same plane would fall onto a stationary plane.

As Alan ran, something caught the corner of his eye. A black bird flew past him, turning sharply and heading for the private runways.

The clock struck 13:00 and he braced himself as the solar flare pulsed through the atmosphere. Above them, the other planes began to plummet. Tiffany opened her book.

"And so it begins."


	14. Trickses, Theories and Treats

_14:23 October 24, 2022_

_Yutani Corporation, Yokohama, Japan  
__

Radiation was a tricksy thing and it liked to keep him guessing when it came to molecular damage regarding mortals and their undying counterparts. Humans, predictably, (disappointingly?) fell apart. Their fragile blood vessels and nerves were destroyed, their hair and teeth fell out and their bodies shut down. No new subjects were needed to determine these findings, since the Chernobyl files still applied.

Reapers were, by and large, immune to permanent damage though it did bring awful headaches and nausea if exposed for over a year without adequate vaccinations and breathing aids. (Good old Jeffrey had been such a sport, sitting starkers in the radiation chambers for him.)

Angels lost a feather or two after a decade's exposure without their aura shell. (Dear Raphael was perhaps the cheeriest experiment he'd ever worked on and the Archangel, in comparison to his warrior brother, was more _precious_ than pretentious.)

And the Demons? Ah, just that morning he'd received a rather interesting report from the lads over in Christchurch, New Zealand, stating the Hellion could not ingest souls left to fester in corpses. (Interesting lads, the ANZAC lot; very chipper and lackadaisical in the most charming of ways)

It was too irresistible a finding to simply accept; he had to try it for himself.

Now a Reaper, albeit an Ancient one, was no proper representative of the Hellion race but lucky for him he had tamed one into submission. (Or rather he did him a favour and the Demon owed him one and had given his true name so he could call upon said favour and now he was doing so and perhaps abusing it a _little_ but who could resist a docile Demon?)

"Are you ever out of your butler livery, Sebastian?" Sydney greeted as the Demon entered the laboratory and hung up his coattails.

"It's Michael now, sir." He bowed politely. "Like I said- old habits die hard."

"How was work today at the Swallowtail, charming all the ladies with your smile?" Chuckling, he beckoned him closer and patted the stool beside him.

"Much the same. The language is very structured and polite, not unlike English back in the Earl's time. The humans crave, more than ever, a touch of the romaticised past to blot out their bleak present."

Sydney sipped his tea before pushing the other teacup to him.

"Cup of tea, love?"

"No thank you, sir. I am not fond of mortal foodstuffs."

"Ah well, you can't say I didn't try the polite route first." It was to his benefit that the Demon was well fed on the Earl's tantalizingly emotional soul- it slowed and dulled his power. It meant Malphas was a fraction slower than he should have been. A fraction of a moment was all Sydney needed to grab his jaw and pour the cup of tea down his throat.

"If you wanted me to drink it, you needn't have-" He gagged as the liquid slid down his throat, setting a feeling of wildfire in its wake. Falling to his knees with a sharp, inhuman cry, Malphas began to lose his mortal disguise. "What have you done?! WHAT IS THIS?!"

Oh a true Fallen body was utterly _magnificent_! Sydney gasped in delight as the flesh melted off the Demon's frame, Malphas growing larger until he was thrice the size of a mortal, and comprised of gleaming ivory bone and calcified muscle. The Demon scrabbled on the floor with his claws, each easily a foot long, as he writhed in pain. His blackened wings flapped in distress, shedding feathers all over the laboratory floor as he cried out over and over and over, sickly grey liquid spilling out of his mouth.

"It's really true! The report is accurate!" The Reaper smiled triumphantly, before crouching and stabbing a large-bore hypodermic needle and injecting a glowing gold substance into the Demon's chest. After a minute the tortured creature ceased struggling and attempted to prop himself up on shaky limbs.

"You are _beautiful_, old friend." Sydney crooned, steadying his chin and gently dabbing his mouth with a kerchief. "Sorry for the inconvenience but I absolutely _had_ to test out the Christchurch report!" He cupped his face and kissed the corner of his wide, split mouth. "Don't you worry; I flushed out the decayed soul with a pure one- no permanent damage caused."

Slowly the Demon began to regress until he was back in the mortal guise of Michael Bastian, though his eyes were still in the process of fading from their brilliant garnet hue back to the Phantomhive sapphire. Sydney removed his labcoat and tucked it around his shoulders.

"I'll replace the uniform this weekend."

"What did you do to me?" He rasped, eyes aflame with fury.

"What did it taste like?"

"Like sludge! It was filth and fire that you poured down my throat!" Was that human betrayal in his eyes? My my, Sydney chuckled.

"It was a soul left to fester for seven months in a corpse from the Wastelands." Scribbling his findings in a notebook (still loved the old feel of pencil scraping on paper, tablets and styluses be damned), the Reaper hummed in thought. "It seems you Hellion truly cannot ingest irradiated souls. I'll have to see if precious Raphael can shed some light on whether the Heavenly folk can do something with them. We Reapers can do naught, I'm afraid. Archivists can't repair the damage."

Michael furrowed his brow. "The souls just rot?"

"Apparently. We all run a loss if that happens- Angels, Reapers and Demons alike." He perked suddenly. "Now, I didn't inconvenience you without preparing a reward. I wouldn't do that to you, old friend." Sydney helped him to his feet, smoothing back his dark hair before guiding him to take a seat once more. "Wait right here."

The mad scientist disappeared into another room before returning with a cloth-covered carrier. Even hidden, Michael knew exactly who it was. That sweet scent of regality and warmth; it was _her._

"Your lovely lady Selene was in quarantine for a long long time, and she's missed you very much." Sydney whipped off the cloth in a flourish, smiling as he watched the Demon's expression light up in an oh so human way.

"Selene." Michael opened the little door and eased her into his arms. "I apologise for my long, inexcusable absence. I am relieved and delighted to see you once more." She sniffed his jaw tentatively before rubbing her head against him. A moment later her purring reverberated against his chest. He tightened his hold on her and buried his face in her soft fur.

The Reaper pressed a kiss to his temple before collecting his books and leaving them in peace.

* * *

(For Michael and Selene's backstory, please refer to my short story 'Spoiled'. Thank you for reading.)


	15. The Last Standing

(This chapter is a guest chapter by cathouse_mary on Ao3/twodollarepistolary on Tumblr and features Agent Charlotte Hayward. For her background information, as well as the world timeline, terraforming posts and general artwork please visit Thantos-Initiative on Tumblr)

* * *

The Great Dying had begun, and Charlotte was out there with every other Reaper. She had been mortal just a little over a century before, and some thought she ought to sit this one out. However, having been mortal, she could not have thought of allowing herself to be sidelined.

The ward was ahead, the hospital silent around her.

_Abernethy, Willard - acute radiation syndrome_  
_Adair, Fiona - acute radiation syndrome_  
_Baum, Eric - acute radiation syndrome_  
_Bashir, Sabah - acute radiation syndrome_  
_Chen, Peter - acute radiation syndrome_

And on down the list - fifteen souls.

The doors opened ahead of her and she surveyed the nurses station. Unscheduled collections. She'd take care of them now. None could say she'd not done her job.

_Bird, Linda. 47. Death by morphine overdose._  
_Singh, Nita. 23. Exsanguination secondary to acute radiation syndrome._

"No further notes." The records loaded - wearily, Charlotte thought - into the CORVID. She covered their faces. It was the least she could do. "I'm sorry nobody could come sooner."

The walls and floor in here were panels of sealed lead, and the Geiger counter on the nurses station clicked steadily twice per second. The hospital was a tomb for nearly one thousand bodies - infants to the aged. Charlotte had sought out and collected all but these last few souls.

You could not leave a soul uncollected. Left to fester, the soul deteriorated and changed into a dark and malign thing. Charlotte had faced them before, and more than anything else understood the suffering that such a transformation represented.

She opened the doors to the ward. It was appalling, but so was everything else Charlotte had seen. The odor was held down by the cold, and the animals that would have scavenged the dead were themselves gone.

"About time the Ministry sent someone." The voice was breathless and gasping, coming from a man in the first bed to the left. "And you've still got your hair."

Charlotte smiled sadly. Mortals did not normally observe the approach of Death, but these were dead while still living. "I'm sorry to be late, Mr. Chen, but I am not from the Ministry you of which you might be thinking."

The classic scythe came to her summons, and the neat three-piece wool suit whispered into the long, hooded robe.

"Oi, in that bloody case, what took you?" Another voice, weaker, from the bed to Mr. Chen's right. Fiona Adair. "Night bus not running?"

"No, Ms. Adair, simply an excess of appointments. I beg your forgiveness." If she sounded grave, it was simply because Charlotte had reaped more in one month than in the last century all together. "It has strained the resources of the Societies incredibly."

Dismissing the fullscythe, Charlotte allowed her uniform to return to the neat, somber suit.

"Most of the others are no longer conscious, Lady Death." Mr. Chen informed her. "And I think some have stopped already."

"So they have, Mr. Chen." This time the scythe in her hand was a plain pair of sewing scissors. With a snip, Charlotte freed the record - halting, tired, and blotched from waiting. "Lilliana Kirikova, age twenty-two. Cause of death is morphine overdose."

"She hacked her intracathecal pump." Ms. Adair informed her. "What's that flickering on your glasses?"

"That would be Ms. Kirikova's record." It was hard to remember how short a time twenty-two years truly was. Charlotte had been that old when she'd been Changed. "No further notes. Collection complete. Referral to Archivists for minor restoration."

Bed by bed, she went through the ward. Most humans were neither exceptionally good, or exceptionally bad. There were the small triumphs, the sharp regrets, the deeply-held secrets, the joy and sadness that made mortal lives so intense.

"What do you see, Lady Death?" Mr. Chen whispered, growing weaker. "And do you understand any of what you see?"

"I do, Mr. Chen. Long before you were born, but not so long ago for me, I was a mortal. I was born in St. Mary Abbots in the year 1880." Mr. Abernethy presented a problem - according to record and all notations, he was damned and consigned to be a demon's dinner. The primary problem being that they'd newly discovered that demons could not ingest irradiated souls. She'd store it on a separate CORVID and see if something could be done with it. "Refer to Special Cases Archive. I died and was Changed in the year 1902."

Ms. Adair sat up slightly. "Changed?"

"A process - a ritual sacrifice, really - whereby a homo sapien becomes homo mortem." One that she remembered quite well.

Mr. Chen was settled back against his pillow. "Can you tell us what's going to happen? Is that against the rules?"

"No, it's not. I simply release your soul and its contemporaneous record. The record is archives, and the soul eventually is reborn to live again and create another record during that lifetime."

"That's all?"

"That's it."

"Same for everyone?"

"It takes a lot of work to earn negation, Mr. Chen. Most souls don't make it."

"What about… I don't know… paradise? Heaven?" His breathing was shallower, and to her enhanced vision the shadow of death lay fully over him.

"Again, most souls don't meet the criteria."

"I can handle that. Everyone's the same…" He closed his eyes.

Charlotte checked her CORVID. In three… in two… in one. With a final exhalation, Mr. Chen's record burst forth.

"Chen, Peter. Age forty-seven." The CORVID's port opened and the record seemed to leap eagerly toward it. "No further notes. Collection complete."

"How long do I have, Lady Death?"

"Not long, Ms. Adair." Charlotte pocketed the CORVID. "Are you in need of anything?"

"I don't suppose you have a cuppa and some biscuits in the wherever it is you keep that scythe."

Sometimes, just sometimes, she could manage a request. "I have Rose Pouchong and some lemon curd thins." Scythespace made a handy purse. She brought out the vacuum bottle and the tin of biscuits.

"Fortnum's? Posh."

They shared the tea and biscuits as the wind picked up outside. It was nice to imagine that it was snow blowing past the windows instead of ash.

"Ms. Adair?"

"Yes, Lady Death?"

"It's Charlotte, actually. Charlotte Hayward."

"Pleased - circumstances notwithstanding - to meet you, Charlotte."

"And to meet you. I will tell you what must happen in order initiate the Change, and you will give me a yes or no - your time is very short. I will take you to the Sea of Souls…"

"Charlotte. I can already tell you. I am tired, and I have seen too much. My soul is weary, and I think that cutting my record loose and going out fresh sounds very good." She took another lemon thin. "The radiation took my hair. All of my teeth are loose. When I go to the loo, it's all blood. My bones hurt. I miss my friends. I miss my kids and grand-kids - but they're all most likely gone ahead of me. They were flying home from a vacation at Disney World."

Charlotte took out the CORVID and entered the last name. "Collected by the crew of the Flying Dutchman."

"Good to know. Can you do it now? No, wait - one last biscuit." Ms. Adair nipped it up between her fingers. "I'm almost sorry to take it from you, but it's lovely to go out on."

Finishing her own biscuit, Charlotte sipped the last of her tea and stowed the empty tin and bottle.

"Ready?"

"Do it quick, before it all comes back up. And Charlotte? It has been a pleasure to meet you."

"May we meet again, Ms. Adair." Snip. "Adair, Fiona. Age sixty."

Charlotte watched the record closely, running it back in spots. It was a hunch, and one that was amply borne out by the evidence. "Special recommendation. Will convey personally."

* * *

She came from the waters in a determined march on small legs, nearly making it off the beach before a Watcher could catch her up in a warm, dry towel.

"Who are you, sweetheart?"

"I Finna Dare!"


	16. We are the Gods now

**I am law only for my kind; I am no law for all**

**-**_**Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Friedrich Nietzsche**_

* * *

_Director, I know I should have been prompt but as you know I am a man of many ventures and limited time. This should have been returned to you years ago but it was erroneously put into storage by one of my staff after Tyrell's desk was cleared during the takeover. _

_No matter- here it is, returned safe and sound, along with a personal invite to my T.E.D. talk on February 27, in San Francisco ('Nova Albion' hasn't caught on with the Americans, but then they never liked Mother England much).I hope to see you there._

_Regards,  
Peter Weyland_

A handwritten note was taped to the Record tome of postal worker David Baker; Sussex man with 4 children, 9 grandchildren and 23 great-grandchildren. He lived an ordinary, pleasant life and did his civic duty with pride; his calm countenance was the reason William had chosen him for Dr. Tyrell's experiment. Since the genius died in November 2019, William supposed Weyland had little interest in it now he had a live Reaper in stasis.

William placed it in the filing tray with instructions to send the tome back to Archives, before fetching his briefcase and coat. He would accept the invitation, but not on the grounds of friendship or even business; Peter Weyland was a dangerous man that could lead humanity into a bright future or the darkest despair- someone had to keep an eye on him.

* * *

_16:30 February 27, 2023_

_Asimov Stadium, Weyland Corporation Nova Albion base, United States of America_

If the Americans weren't fond of Mother England, then William was not fond of the Americans. They were brash and hot-headed, reminding him of rebellious teenagers who ran from home and ruined their lives but were too proud to admit defeat. He didn't like their over-confidence or their arrogance, nor the way they assumed their high position in the world.

No, William did not like them at all and preferred to spend as little time in their country as possible. Still, he was here on duty and he would stay for as long as needed.

"Director! Welcome, and thank you for coming." Peter greeted him with a broad smile, a firm handshake and a pat on the shoulder. "Did you like my talk?"

"Ambitious from the onset, but I know you are a determined man." The reply elicited a hearty laugh and a mischievous narrowing of his eyes.

"Oh I don't deny that, Director." He led William down the hall. "Now, I want to introduce you to a magnificent man- one of your own, actually, but soon to be one of mine if I have any say in it."

Peter opened the door to a small conference room and gestured for him to enter. Seated at the table was his Superior. William's eyes widened and he stood at attention, before bowing deeply.

"Sir."

"Dr. Sydney Ashwood- head of Bio-Engineering in Yutani Corporation's Cybernetics Division." Sydney grinned, offering his hand to William. "So far from home, little William?"

"I could say the same for you, sir." He shook his hand politely.

"Dr. Ashwood has done wonders for the advancement in Cybernetic engineering and he's currently negotiating with Director Kazue Yutani so we may collaborate on an android project." Peter beamed, patting Sydney on the back with such familiarity it sickened William.

"He also personally delivered a Cinematic Record to Tyrell and helped incept a Replicant with his memories! Resounding success too, I'll have you know. He's had a hell of a time catching up, but the man's got incredible charm and bravado."

Mild alarm stung William's senses.

"Anyway I'm a busy man, Director, so I better be off. I'll leave you two to chat. Thanks for coming." Peter excused himself with a wave and closed the door behind him.

"Whose Record?"

"Aleister Chambers."

"_Why?_"

"Because things were dreary without him, dear William, don't you agree?" Sydney chuckled, inspecting his black lacquered nails. "He was such a character back in Queen Vicky's days. The world needs his tomfoolery again."

"Sir, he was a dangerous man capable of altering many a fate." Reasoning with his Superior was testing the bounds of propriety, but this was more important. "I chose an ordinary, unremarkable Record for the Replicant experiment so even if it were to succeed the man would do no harm!"

"But it wouldn't be _funny!" _There was a hiss behind the smile and something sinister in those eyes as they narrowed at him. "And I haven't laughed for a very, _very_ long time, William."

"I hope you know what you are doing, sir." He pressed his mouth into a hard line, unable to bring himself to argue with the Division's most respected elder. Sydney laughed, lunging at him and grabbing his face. William felt those sharp claw-like nails dig into his skin, but refused to flinch.

"And you, William? Handing Juliet over to be a madman's frozen guinea pig?" A snarl was on his lips. "Do _you_ know what you're doing, allowing them to discover all our secrets?"

"I will do anything to save her."

"Including giving them the means to destroy us?" He pinned him to the wall by his throat and gave a cackle. "Oh William, _dear_ William, clever, stern, stoic, heartless Director Spears suddenly remembers he has a heart and it's broken because he never told her he loved her before she died for him!"

The grip on his neck tightened and William grabbed his arm, trying to dislodge him.

"Your tale is _almost_ funny enough to sate me, but alas, the thought of unleashing the Viscount of Druitt back on the world trumps it." Releasing him, Sydney preened William's tie and brushed a crease from his shoulder. "Now, you go on back to London and mind your hive of workers. I'm off back to Yokohama tonight to start work on this android project- it's the building block of Juliet's new body, so if you know what's good for her, you'll not hinder me in any way."

"Dr. Ashwood, the car is ready to take you to the airport. Are you ready, old chap?" Lavender eyes and golden hair, a sweet secretive smile and a handsome face. "Oh, we've met before too haven't we? Hm, let me try and remember- bit of a long jog down memory lane since I died back in 1904, you'll have to forgive me! Wilfred, was it? No- _William,_ isn't it? We met on that voyage when you came to fetch your lovely red maniac with the chainsaw."

The former undertaker winked at William before leaving the room. The tall blonde man gave an apologetic smile.

"Can't dally now- got to get the Doctor to the airport. If ever you want to catch up, I'll be in the Nova Albion base-just ask for Aleister Chambers."

* * *

(Peter Weyland's TED 2023 speech can be viewed at weylandindustriesDOTcom/ tedtalk )


	17. Pinocchio

_10:45 January 7, 2025_

_Weyland Corporation Londinium base, London_

"Hello, I'm David."

"Welcome to the future, Director Spears." Peter laughed as William shook the hand offered by one of the androids. "Meet my son, David, and his Grim twin."

Two androids stood before them, blinking in unison. One was fair and blonde, hair parted to the side, with slate grey and Prussian blue eyes. It had a solid jaw and sharp cheekbones; the perfect image of an Aryan soldier. The other was slightly slimmer, with darker hair parted in a similar fashion, but what struck William the most were its eyes. Reaper eyes, gold and green, and somehow just like Grell's.

"How did you replicate Grell's eyes?" He stepped closer to the android, toe to toe, and inspected its now unblinking eyes.

"We extracted cells and grew them in the same manner Tyrell made Replicant eyes. They're real eyes, whereas my David has purely synthetic eyes." He explained, tapping the corner of blonde android's eyes. "Yours can see whatever it is your kind can see. Records, auras, angels, demons, vampires- whatever it is that populates your world."

"I had a bit of input into his design." A voice behind him purred. "I know your lovely madwoman has a thing for pale men with dark hair." Aleister traced the hairline of the android's black hair. "I thought it best her walking computer wear a form pleasing to her."

"This one is my master copy, and this one," Peter patted the shoulder of the darker one, "belongs to you Reapers."

"What is its purpose?" William asked, puzzled as to what he was to do with a computer disguised as a man.

"To learn. Your Reaper will miss out on plenty of events, so the primary function of your David is to absorb information- everything and anything you want him to learn he will learn." Peter beamed. "They're both early days at present, but they'll be upgraded often. New storage capabilities, power upgrades, operating system installations- and perhaps even a personality once we figure that out."

"I see." Out of habit he straightened the tie the android was wearing, before preening the lapels of its black suit. "It shall stay with us at our base?"

"Yes, unless he needs to come in for upgrades. He'll notify you when that needs to occur." The man waved a hand dismissively, before gesturing at Aleister. "Now, Aleister here is taking over our military division. In years to come, once we've acquired the right companies, Chambers Corporation will exist as our sister company."

"You should see their machines, William! So many things have changed from our dreary times. Their killing machines are _magnificent_ and I will make them _beautiful_." Aleister laughed, sweeping his arm. "I've had incredible ideas of spider combat vehicles. Arachnoids, if you will."

"Spiders, Mr. Chambers?"

"Ah, my nephew Alois was very fond of spiders. His mansion was kept spotless except for the spiderwebs. He loved them, odd little lad." The Replicant shrugged, his smile sweet and dangerous. "It's wonderful to be here to even the playing field, William. It seems Death isn't too powerful an enemy to overcome."

"We are not the enemy." William bristled. "We keep the balance of Life. Death is a necessity."

Aleister's smile became more dangerous than sweet.

"We shall see, William. We shall see."


	18. The Somnambulist

_20:30 August 24,2069_

_Abandoned training facility ATF19910514, London_

* * *

"Hey Pup."

"Hiya Captain." Ronald greeted with a lazy wave, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm.

"You're terribly late." She patted beside her, inviting him to sit on the steps. "It's rude to keep a lady waiting you know."

"I know." He ducked his head apologetically. "I'm sorry Captain. Been really busy- end of the world and all that."

"I forgive you." She sighed dramatically, before scooting over a little as he took a seat on the same step. "How's the end of the world going?"

"Bloody _awful_. Our shifts are days long- it makes overtime seem like a breeze in comparison." Ronald scoffed, and she laughed brightly.

"That bad, hm?"

"Yes, and you're skipping class like the miscreant you are."

"Why I _never_!" Hand on her heart, mouth open in mock horror. "I'll wash your mouth out with soap you bad puppy!" Ronald laughed brightly, giving her a wink.

"So." His smile faltered. "How are you?"

"Been lonely." She shrugged, hugging her knees to her chest. "Had no one but the cockroaches as company. Couple of rat families every now and then. No one worthy to chat to though."

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't know, Ronnie." She tisked, shaking her head. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten."

"It's been fifty years." His voice coarse, Ronald inspected his combat boots and fiddled with a buckle. "Thought I'd come see it, y'know? Finally plucked up the courage."

"_And_ because the circuits are fried and the building finally let you in, right?" She teased and he couldn't help but chuckle.

"That too."

"How have _you_ been, Pup?"

"Tired. Worried. Missed you a bit."

"Oh?"

"Can I ask you something? Something really important- something I already know the answer to but something I really have to ask you?" Ronald clenched his fists, meeting her inquisitive gaze.

"Of course you can."

"Could we have done anything differently?" His voice trembled and her eyes softened.

"No, Ronald."

"Could I have convinced you to stay?" His lip quivered and his eyes burned. _I've got my helmet off. The bloody radiation's getting to me._ "Could I have stopped you?"

"No, my darling, you couldn't have stopped me." She whispered, shaking her head. "I made up my mind. You're young and foolish and you needed the chance to be young and foolish for a little longer."

"It's like that bloody zombie ship!" Ronald scowled. "That awful ship when Undertaker went bonkers and fought us and you pushed me out of the way –"

"I took the brunt of the hit because I'm stronger than you, Ronald." She stated matter-of-factly. "He would have killed you outright."

"You're always saving me!" He shouted, tears welling in his eyes. "Why can't I save you?! Why couldn't I have done more?!"

"Because I chose this." She brushed her fingers against his cheek briefly and his emotional hold broke down. "Ronald, my baby bird. My silly little Pup."

"What now, Captain? What do I do now?"

"Keep buggering on, I suppose." She laughed and his heart twisted. "The world's not going to end itself."

A cut appeared on her jaw, and red suddenly bloomed on her chest. Slices began to open on her arms and she slowly lay back. Above her, a silhouette of her fighting a demon played out. The demon grabbed her just as she sliced its head off. It discarded her, and Ronald watched her fall against the steps with a sickening crack of her spine and the shattering of her legs.

Black feathers began to fall like dark snow, settling in the growing pool of blood.

"You left a piece of your soul here for me?" Ronald choked, touching the shimmer of blood overlaid on the dark, long dried stains. "Why?"

"I knew you would come." She whispered, coughing violently as her soul went through the motions of dying. "I knew you wouldn't rest until you heard it from me."

"Heard what?" He tried to take her hand in his, but his fingers simply passed through her. "Heard what, Grell?"

Her form was beginning to fade, and the echoes of their colleagues could be heard playing out in her memory. Soon Eric and Mackenzie, the Medics, and her William would arrive. She motioned for him to lean down and he did so obediently, his ear close to her lips.

"It wasn't your fault."


	19. Here be Dragons

It entered his field of vision as a black dot in the sky, and his optics adjusted their zoom until he could identify the object.

"Message for you, sir."

The Director eased the merlin from his gloved hand and back onto its perch before he locked the cage.

"That would make it the fourth in two days." William commented, crossing the distance and standing beside the android. "Highly odd." He held out his arm, and a messenger raven landed obediently onto the outstretched hand.

David watched curiously as the Reaper eased a small scroll of parchment from a canister on the bird's leg. The raven took flight without waiting for a return message to be placed in its carrier.

"The format is the same?"

"Yes, nothing but modules of varying widths and kerning." He offered the paper to the android, who received it for inspection.

"May I have the others, Director?"

"Perhaps you can make sense of it, David." Nodding, the Director retrieved three pieces of parchment from his breastpocket and placed them in his hand. "No one but the Elders use avian messengers, and each have their own distinct bird- none of which are ravens."

"Then I shall ponder over this for you, sir."

"Thank you, David. Please report to me if you decipher the messages." Giving a polite bow, the Director excused himself and left the aviary tower.

The way the man held himself fascinated David endlessly. William Talbot Spears was world-weary for a man so young in comparison to the Elders. He had steered the Division through nuclear fallout and away from social collapse, playing an important role in staying Peter Weyland's hand so the madness was tempered by genius.

He was Eddard Stark, David decided, the King's Hand who did not rule directly but ruled through the bonds of a businesslike friendship with the King. Not that his creator, Sir Weyland, was as mad and brutish as Robert Baratheon. David made himself a reminder to cross-reference Sir Weyland's characteristics with his A Song of Ice and Fire database. Perhaps he would find a better comparison? It was his favourite literary series after all, and his creator should receive a character befitting his persona.

Looking down at the parchment scraps in his hands, he spotted something intriguing. Each set of modules did not overlap the modules on another paper, but if he folded them in half and held them on top of one another the cubes resembled a QR code.

Holding the papers to his eye, he scanned the code and followed its directions. The webpage belonged to a bookstore, and the book was titled 'Before the Dawn' by Nicholas Wade. The spark of curiousity grew into a flame, and David sat himself on a sill to wait. His legs dangled over the edge and he pictured himself as Bran Stark whom had climbed the tower against his mother's wishes. But the comparison was not accurate, for David did not consider himself a Stark heir.

He pulled his coat tighter, folding up the fur collar and in his mind he was Jon Snow of the Night's Watch; Eddard's bastard son whom few had faith in but his father believed in him, and for the Director, David would solve this problem.

"I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls."

* * *

Before the dawn, a raven did not arrive. David stood, holding out his arm. He received a crow instead, a large crow with sleek black pinions and blue eyes. It made an impatient gesture with one foot, clawing at his hand until he retrieved the small rolled parchment. It stared at him with its icy eye before taking flight.

Unraveling the paper until it was stretched smooth; David was pleased to recognize the small seemingly erratic scatter of black modules. He folded the strip of paper until it was squared and the QR code was presented in full. Once again he held it to his eye and followed the hyperlink.

'_Clever boy, well done.'_ Dr. Sydney Ashwood greeted him, the recording automatically playing the moment the page loaded. _'I thought you might enjoy solving a puzzle delivered to you in such an antiquated manner. Your father found it amusing you've latched onto fantasy literature whilst your brother favours the biographical kind. Perhaps when we finally meet you can tell me which character I play in the deathly Game of Thrones?'_

The doctor stood and David recognized the Nova Albion laboratories behind him- namely the highly classified bunker for the Aurora Project.

'_There may come a time when a Greyjoy breaches Winterfell and the people are silenced. How then shall we get word to each other?'_

By raven, David thought to himself. Was someone watching the Doctor and preventing him from speaking the truth?

'_The King grows old and bitter, and the Hand works to save the kingdoms from falling to pieces. But he is far from his family, isn't he?'_

Dr. Ashwood placed his hand against a biometric security pad and the frosted glass wall became clear, revealing a large cylindrical suspension chamber. It was filled with liquid and lit brightly with UV rays to prevent bacterial growth.

'_She has a sea to cross, but she'll come back to take what is hers.' _The Doctor was grinning, his mouth split wide and his teeth white and his eyes a brilliant gold.

There was the completed chassis of Agent Grell Sutcliff, curled into a foetal position with a flexible support rod running through the metal skeleton from skull to tailbone to keep it suspended. It had most of its colloid musculature in place, creating an artificial replica of a human stripped of its skin. A nightmare of steel and carbon.

Removing his glove, the Reaper tapped against the glass with one black claw-like nail.

The shell shuddered, hands partially uncurling and fingers twitching. Its head lolled to the side and opened eyes that were gold and green and David called her Stormborn.


	20. Godspeed

_(There have been substantial timeskips in recent chapters. For a comprehensive timeline of all the events, please visit 'thanatos-initiative' on Tumblr and click 'timeline')_

* * *

_07:10 August 6. 2091_

_Weyland Corporation Londinium base, London_

* * *

"It's all up to you now." A withered hand patted the Perspex pod before gesturing at the suspension chamber. "At least until I get back."

Time had raked lines all over Peter Weyland's face and dragged silver through his hair, but the man still bore the same bright-eyed determination he had when William met him decades ago. His lips still bore the same triumphant smile that hinted at amusing secrets and fruitful plans.

"What happens now?" William's gaze traced the multiple cables running from Grell's pod to the grotesque metal figure curled in the suspension chamber. One sizable cable ran from the back of her skull into the skull of the android shell.

"Now her brain will sync with the processing core. She's going to unconsciously teach her new body how to move." Peter admired his creation, circling the chamber and resting a hand against the glass. Every now and then the body twitched.

"Is she awake?"

"No. It's nothing but impulses." He gave the glass a pat before straightening his posture. "I best return to my stasis pod. We leave in an hour."

"You are remarkably active for a man deemed dead since 2089." The Director noted, and Peter laughed heartily.

"Ah but you _knew_ I wasn't dead!" He patted William's shoulder and grinned wryly. "Your kind would've been the one to kill me but I'm to elude you one last time. I leave, a mortal man, for the stars, and I will return a God."

"I will endeavor to be there to see it." He meant it. Over the years he had become somewhat fond of the man, especially his work ethic and burning desire to achieve perfection in all things.

"My technicians will work no easier in my absence, I guarantee it." Peter vowed. "And Aleister will be in charge of Miss Sutcliff's aesthetics." He paused, chuckling more to himself than to William. "To think I am leaving a project to a Replicant. It seems my mentor is still teaching me from the grave."

"Mr. Weyland, you are required on the cryo deck." David's smooth voice interrupted them, and William turned to find two androids behind him.

"You will accompany him?" The Reaper asked the fairer of the pair.

"I will follow my father." David looked at his twin. "He will stay here with your kind. The two of us are the first of our make, and my primary purpose is to execute my father's objective."

"We are pledged to different allegiances." The darker of the pair nodded. "Mine is to you, Director Spears."

"Look after him." Peter ordered with a smirk. "Make sure he's around for my return, David."

"Have a good journey, Mr. Weyland." William extended his hand to him, giving it a firm squeeze when Weyland shook it. "And a safe return."

"Next we meet as equals, William." He smiled, giving him a firm nod before allowing David to lead him away.

* * *

**Incident Report #01012095**

**Signal received 12:08 this morning from Space Exploratory Vessel 'Prometheus'. Vessel has been destroyed; no vital signs from the 18 crew members have been detected.**

**Given the two year lag in communication, the destruction would have occurred early on New Year's Day 2093.**

**No further action intended. Project Prometheus is now terminated.**


	21. White Night

The hallway was white and her hands were red. Why were they red? Red red red, dripping red onto the white floor. Her favourite colour, all over her hands. And her lips? Was it on her lips too? She licked them and tasted blood.

Her front was covered in blood and her hands were dripping in it and _my oh my_ William was going to be so _very_ angry with her.

Her chest hurt but it wasn't a wound and the blood on it wasn't hers. But it hurt. It was a deep throbbing ache that wet her eyes and suddenly she realized she was crying and those gasping sounds were coming from her.

A discarded coat was at her feet and she picked it up. It was a trendy sky blue with distinct lining. Burberry, wasn't it? Autumn/Winter 2019. Wiping her hands and face with it, she hoped the owner wouldn't come to claim it any time soon.

In front of her was a sliding door and at a touch it hissed open.

"William." She blinked, tilting her head slightly. He was sitting by another sliding door, fiddling with a control panel. He looked up at her voice, standing in time to catch her when she threw herself into his arms.

For some reason there is a sense of urgency and the ache in her chest stabs her sharply and she kisses him as though they'd always kissed and loved and this wasn't something new.

'_Emergency security procedures have been activated.'_

A light blinks above them, red and alarming. A beep shrills in tune with a countdown and William grabs her hand and pushes it against an identification panel. The door slides open and they run into another white hallway and when she looks behind her the door is shut and fire boils and licks where they once stood.

The hallways are long. The doors are always locked. She is always able to open them. Until they reach a red door and a voice asks her for an override chip.

"What the hell is an override chip?!" She is desperate and he is afraid and they both press buttons and paw around the door for another way there has to be another way there has to-

The hallway explodes and William pins her against the wall and she can smell his sweat and the wool of his suit and his smoky aftershave and burnt hair and burnt flesh and when he falls and takes both of them to the floor she can see large jagged shards of glass embedded deep in his back.

She screams and he's dying, dying dying in her arms and she can't save him and their last kiss tastes of blood and there's blood all over her mouth and her hands and her front.

The door opens and all is white again and she stumbles into the room and at her feet is a coat. A Burberry coat for her to wipe her hands and face and didn't she do this before? Didn't she touch this door and didn't it open?

"William." She blinked, tilting her head slightly. He was sitting by another sliding door, fiddling with a control panel. He looked up at her voice, standing in time to catch her when she threw herself into his arms.

For some reason there is a sense of urgency and the ache in her chest stabs her sharply and she kisses him as though they'd always kissed and loved and this wasn't something new.

'_Emergency security procedures have been activated.'_

And they're running again, running down white hallways with no windows and locked sliding doors that hiss when she pushes her hand against the biometric panels and she's so sure she's done this before and look! A red door!

'_Please input an override chip'_

He's pawing around the door, desperately seeking another way out and she can't shake the feeling she's done this before. The hallway explodes and he's dying in her arms and she's crying and their last kiss tastes of blood and there's blood all over her mouth and her hands and her front.

And then she's wiping her hands on a Burberry coat at her feet and he's in front of her again and she can't shake the feeling she's done this before.

'_Please input an override chip'_

"An override chip." She repeats and her hands are pressed to her chest and she knows what an override chip is and she knows it's inside her chest. She kisses him and this time it doesn't taste like his blood, but her own because she's holding her heart in her hands and her heart fits into the panel on the wall.

The hallway explodes and she falls to the ground, vision fading. The last sight that graces her is that of his feet as he runs away and he is safe and she is glad.

* * *

"Her eyelids-!" Ronald almost fell off his chair by the stasis pod, pointing madly. "Her eyelashes are fluttering!"

"Why, so they are." Dr. Ashwood chuckled, trying to calm the jittery junior Agent. "She's dreaming, little Pup."

"It means her brain's still working and all that?" Ronald asked slowly. "That's…good, isn't it?"

"Yes it is." Sydney purred. Behind him in the suspension chamber the metal creature stirred, pulling its arms closer to its chest and curling its fingers over its heart.


	22. The Devil in the Detail

Time; Immortals possessed an abundance of it but it had the habit of wearing them down. The quiet decades digesting the Earl's soul did well to placate the terrible hunger that usually boiled inside, but it was returning slowly but surely. He was hungry.

"Selene, what am I to do, hmm?" Michael asked the black kitten curled in her basket. Her namesake had died a long while ago, but the Demon had chosen a female black kitten from the last litter she birthed, and repeated the process when each cat neared its death. "My eyes are no longer his blue, but violet now. The red is returning, and with it the hunger."

'_Incoming video message from Managing Director Chambers.'_

"Thank you System; prepared to receive." Michael sighed, taking a seat and bringing up the holographic display. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Sebastian, dear butler." Aleister greeted with a smirk. "Have you time for tea and a chat today?"

"I am presently unoccupied, what is it you ask of me?" Selene moved from her basket and pawed at him to be held. He gladly obliged, holding the kitten against his chest.

"It's better asked in person. Come to L.A. this afternoon- I hear it's a good day to fly."

* * *

_16:10 September 20, 2103_

_Chambers Corporation, Los Angeles, United States of America_

"I need a little extra protection." Aleister leaned forward, elbows on the desk as he steepled his fingers. "I aim to even out the playing field but I know this might ruffle a few feathers on the way."

"I am a mere butler, sir, what could you want of me?" Michael asked calmly.

"A butler and _so_ much more." The Replicant laughed, smiling handsomely. "I'm surprised the old man let you wander so far from his sight."

"Dr. Ashwood does not own me, Director Chambers." He corrected him, pouring a cup of tea out of habit once the assistant placed the tray on the table. "I am free to do as I please."

"Oh? What is he to you, then, if he is not a father-figure? Brother? Friend? Lover?" Aleister plucked a sugar cube from the bowl and crushed it over the cup. "Neither and all of the above?"

"Perhaps."

"I am going to create his destruction. Does this upset you?" He sipped the tea though his lips were still curved in a smile.

"It fascinates me that you would try to harm the man who gave you a second life." Michael reached forward and swept the stray sugar crystals from the desk.

"Well, not _specifically_ his destruction, but the destruction of his kind." The blonde shrugged, picking up the matching saucer so he could stand with his teacup. "Why should Reapers get to dictate whether we live or die?"

"You believe everyone should live forever" Foolish, he thought, utter foolishness.

"Certainly not. People should die, yes, and I don't deny that death has a special beauty to it. I worked with one, remember? Eric: that brute of a man who murdered hundreds to save his pretty little lover." Aleister reminded him with a fond smile. "No, death is a necessity- but Death itself shouldn't be exempt."

"Reapers are not invincible, sir, they most certainly can die." Many had died by his hands and they all died the same- in torrents of blood and pain and the consumption of their bright soul.

"Only if it is initiated by an outside force- otherwise they simply live on unchallenged."

The Demon paused, trying to decipher the man's intentions. Why bring him here? Why tell him this? Reapers were an annoyance, certainly, but they sought no battles with him unless provoked. Their temperament reminded him of guard-dogs that remained loyal to their cause, attacking only if danger presented itself. Ah…

"You wish to construct a Reaper for the Reaper?"

"Yes." Aleister smiled triumphantly. "I have all the parts; I just need the time- uninterrupted time. Do you understand? I need protection of the _immortal_ kind."

"Do you understand what it means to contract a demon, Director Chambers?" Michael felt his innards twist as adrenalin flooded his veins at the mere thought of another meal. "You will die once I have fulfilled your terms; your soul is mine and there exists no place in heaven, purgatory or hell for you."

"If I am to die," he came around to stand before him, "it is fitting the Devil himself takes me. I will leave the Reapers to taste their own medicine. Now this form of yours, whilst practical for the lovely maidens you charm, is rather unappealing to me. Keep it for the mad doctor if you must, but when we're alone I want something…_prettier_."

The Demon coaxed Aleister to take his seat, brushing his fingers against his jawline.

"A prettier bird to ensnare?" The form was in the Earl's memories, one that was easy to take and modify. "Perhaps a Robin?"

"Yes." Aleister whispered, his lips on the smooth curve of her ivory neck and his hands in her ashen curls. He felt her slender fingers travel up his shirt and rest on his ribs. A flash of searing pain caused him to arch his back and cry out, but she stole the sound with her mouth.

Malphas looked at the back of her hand and smiled; the new seal was raw and angry against her skin, blood dotted around its edges. Aleister held it and kissed it lustfully.

"Let the games begin."


	23. Lackadaisical

_21:50 December 2, 2103_

_The Wastelands, Leicester, London_

It rains acid and ash on where London once stood; the air is thick and heavy with chemical fumes and radiation. Ronald half-heartedly gave his wrist-piece a poke, willing the time to hurry along. Idly he toed a piece of debris over, watching in disinterest as the mixture of rain and sludge dripped off its edge.

"What are we looking for, anyway?" The young Reaper groaned. "There's nothing out here!"

"The scanners said there's some Pit Beast rotting beneath a building." Came Eric's voice into his helmet. "The storm's scramblin' most of our tech though."

"Then those fluctuations showing vital signs are probably nothing." He grumbled bitterly, kicking a rock away. "We're chasing tech glitches!"

"Or there are actual souls, weakened by time and radiation, crying for help." Came Tiffany's chiding voice. "The sooner we sort this out, the sooner we can all head back to base."

Ronald's helmet output suddenly blurred, the fluorescent green readings flickering faintly before settling. He gave the helmet a couple of sharp knocks.

"C'mon, don't give me this shit. It's bucketing out here and I'm cold and 5000% done with this shift."

A red dot appeared on his radar, blinking and beeping softly to alert him. Life.

"Guys I got something. Suit's picked up vital signs someplace west of Leicester Square." Ronald mapped out the swiftest, safest path and sent a copy to the rest of the scouting team. "It might be nothing, but I'll check it out and let you know."

The red dot took him into what used to be a street of houses. Only crumbling shells existed now, the houses well looted before constant storms of acid wore them down to ruins.

"How's it lookin', Ron?" Eric asked, his face appearing in a small square in the bottom right-hand corner.

"Like the place was emptied, looted and blasted with radiated rain?" He grinned darkly. "I'm almost there. It's coming from one of the houses."

The red dot wasn't a weary soul or a rotted Pit Beast. Ronald stood in the remains of someone's foyer, mouth agape in surprise before he dropped into a crouch.

"Hey buddy, you okay?"

A sodden, muddy puppy cowered in the cupboard beneath the staircase. It whined softly, shivering uncontrollably from the cold. The light from the torch mounted on Ronald's bracer reflected an eerie glow over its pupils.

"You're one of those Replicant pups?" The Reaper crawled forward, scooping the pup into his arms and giving it a gentle pat. "That means you've been here for…blimey, something like 84 years!" It gave a frightened whimper, nuzzling against his chest.

"Your folks left you here? That's brutal."

'_Storm Alert; All Agents on current duty in the Wastelands please take immediate shelter and report your co-ordinates' _

The metallic voice of their positronic IRIS program rang loud and clear in his helmet. Tucking the pup under one arm, Ronald looked around him.

"Your folks got a cellar or somethin', pup?" Running through the house, he spotted a smashed cellar door and quickly made his way into the bowels of the house. He sat down in the furthest corner of the cellar, puppy curled in his lap.

"System, Agent Ronald A. Knox reporting; location west of Leicester, coordinates being sent now." Nothing but white noise crackled in his ears and Ronald cursed loudly. "Hello? System? Can anyone hear me?" The sound of a dangerous storm broiled above, the rain falling in heavy sheets as the thunder rolled heavily.

"Looks like we're gonna have to rough it out together, pal." He set his suit on high visibility, the armour lighting up and flooding the cellar with a white glow. Removing his helmet and gloves, he gave the puppy a proper pat, grinning when it lapped up the affection since it had been starved of interaction for decades. It rolled onto its back and Ronald's brows rose.

"Oh, I'm sorry love; I didn't realise you're a lass instead of a lad!" He gave her tummy a rub. "I guess I better give you a name. How's 'Daisy'? A good friend of mine is called Daisy. Well, she was called Daisy for a day and then Dahlia for another day and she'll have a different name the next time I see her but-"

Ronald shook his head with a grin, chuckling when the pup huffed and settled into a nap.

"Alright alright, I'll let you get your beauty sleep." He closed his eyes. "Let's hope the storm's gone by morning, Daisy. The two of us are due for a bath and a soft bed."

* * *

"I am at the location indicated by the coordinates. The Reaper is asleep."

"Which one?"

"Agent Ronald Knox."

"Perfect! Drug him, put him in a pod and fly him here. I want him ready for operating by the afternoon."

"He has a young canine in possession: a Replicant pup manufactured by Tyrell Corporation in early 2018."

"Drug it and take it with you."

"Yes sir." Michael ended the call before withdrawing a metal case from his coat pocket. He filled a syringe with liquid before gently tilting the Reaper's head to the side so he could ease the tip into his neck. "Goodnight, Master Knox."

Ronald's body spasmed briefly, his eyes wide with surprise before they rolled to the back of his head and he slumped limply to the floor. Grabbing the puppy by its scruff, Michael jabbed the second needle into its skin and injected the same drug into it.

The Demon hoisted the Reaper over his shoulder, tucking the puppy under his arm before making his way out onto the streets. The transportation vehicle opened its door as he approached, and he laid both Ronald and the pup into the awaiting cryostasis pod.

"Master Chambers will be pleased to meet you again, Ronald." Michael mused as he drove through the ruins and back to base. "He's quite keen to work with you, though it's a shame you shan't remember any of it."

* * *

_14:50 December 3, 2103_

_Chambers Corporation, Los Angeles, United States of America_

A Reaper! A live Reaper! The crew at Weyland, Londinium, always harped on about how they had one under ice and could prod it and harvest from it and test a multitude of theories on its amazing genetic structure. He only ever seethed with envy when reading their reports or watching their video logs. But no longer!

Managing Director Chambers brought one in personally for them that afternoon, still in its armour and wearing outdated plastic goggle-frames like those worn by youngsters almost a century ago.

"This is Agent Ronald Arthur Knox from the London Division." Aleister declared, patting the Perspex pod. "I want him incepted with memories of transferring here to give us motion data for the Aurora Project. I've already had the graphics department make mock videos of his boss giving instructions to him."

The team broke into hushed whispers, excitement thrumming in their veins. He felt exhilarated and honoured to be a part of the Director's secret program.

"We will harvest his motion data and put him through intense, rigorous physical training." Aleister continued, circling the pod. "The data harvested will allow us to better construct the Thanatos models. Remember, ladies and gentlemen, we are building the Grim Reaper a Reaper of his own. We will make their reflections as brutal and as merciless as they are on us."

The room erupted in cheers and applause and he found himself swept up in the energy of the moment, cheering as loudly as they.

"Elliott, a moment if you please?" Aleister gave his shoulder a pat, guiding him aside. "That A.I. you've been working on, is it ready?"

"Yes sir." He replied confidently.

"We've important work to do, my friend." Aleister squeezed his shoulder. "Have your A.I. monitor him and be his main point of contact. She mustn't let slip that the Division knows he's missing. He must believe he volunteered to be here for the Aurora Project, doing important research for his precious redhead."

"And the dog, sir?"

"It's a Replicant- one of those pets made to stay young forever. It probably has a basic recording device." Aleister thought aloud. "Have one of the team hook it up and extract all its visual memory."

"Of course." He nodded.

"Your A.I.- Sweets, isn't it?" The Director smiled. "Your sister's nickname."

"Yes." He felt his heart clench painfully.

"You lost her to the riots, but more than that- you lost her to a Reaper just like him." Aleister pointed at the sleeping blond. "We'll make them pay, Elliott, do you understand? We'll make them fear us."

"And there'll be no more goodbyes." He came to stand at the stasis pod, loathing the creature that slept inside it. "No more tears and no more grief."

"We'll decide our own fate from now on." The blond man smiled triumphantly. "And they'll know what it is to fear Thanatos himself."


	24. Memento Mori

Twenty-seven or was it twenty-eight? Did a stab into a pre-existing wound still count as only one, or did it count as two?

"It's handy how your lot heal so fast." A voice sneered and the serrated knife cut across his face, dragging flesh in its wake.

"Quickly," Ronald slurred, "how your lot heal so _quickly_." He managed a shaky grin and was greeted with a sneer.

"Well I'll enjoy how _quickly_ you heal from _this._" The knife entered his eye and Ronald screamed in agony as a bolt of pain arched through his body. He slumped against his bonds, feeling his own blood pour down one side of his face.

"Hey, the lasses enjoy the pirate look." The Reaper chuckled, smiling lazily at his captor. The man growled in frustration, plunging the knife into Ronald's chest and dragging it downwards to carve him open. An inhuman noise left Ronald's throat as the blade cut through skin, muscle and organs.

"Why are you doing this me?" He choked, lungs filling with blood rapidly. "Why am I here?"

"You always ask me that." The man smile, amused.

"This is the first time I've asked you." Ronald found his answer odd.

"No. It's the 79th time you've asked me that, Agent Knox." He gave him a patronising pat on the head. "Not that you remember the other 78 times, of course."

"What?" He shook his head in disbelief. His captor crouched to his level, grabbing a fistful of his now matted blond hair to yank his head back.

"This is my favourite part right here- the part where I tell you I've been carving you open for months now." He was laughing gleefully though his eyes were cold. "We've been poisoning you, drugging you, breaking your bones, flaying you- yesterday we electrocuted you. And then we wipe your memory clean."

Ronald coughed, blood bubbling from his lips and spilling down his chin. The man tisked, wiping the Reaper's lips with his sleeve.

"You wake up and don't remember a thing. We do a day of physical training- maybe even let you spar with a combat droid." He went on, easing the knife into a wound in Ronald's thigh and giving a sharp twist. "Then the next day you're back in this room and we find a new way to break you. Tomorrow we're going to drop you from the ceiling."

The tip of the knife traced the gash on Ronald's face, before the man pried the wound wider.

"You're incredibly resilient, but I suppose killing machines are built as such." He scowled, shoving Ronald away and getting to his feet. "Your kind took my sister without so much as a second thought. A young woman of fifteen, caught up in the riots on her way home from school."

"She would have died because of some idiot waving a gun around!" Ronald shouted, blood and spittle dribbling down his chin. "Her Reaper took her because it was her time!"

"Don't give me your filthy lies!" The man roared smacking him in the head with the flat side of the knife. "It could have let her live! She didn't deserve to die!"

"At least she didn't live to see her brother turn into a monster!" The Reaper retorted. He saw the man's face fill with rage and could do nothing but struggle feebly as he proceeded to strangle him.

_Remember this, Ron. C'mon lad, remember this! You can't forget this! You have to remember!_

He pleaded silently to himself, vision becoming spotted. The lights above him blurred into golden glow and he thought idly of daisies.

_Daisies? Why am I thinking of daisies? C'mon Ron, c'mon you bloody bastard. Concentrate! Remember this! Remember his face and remember that knife and his sister and daisies. Remember daisies. Remember- _

* * *

_"Good morning, Agent Knox. The time is seven o'clock, on December 27, year 2103."_

Ronald groaned, pulling the other pillow over his head.

"Mornin' Sweets." Sitting up, he stretched with a wince and massaged his nape gingerly. "Man I must've slept like a contortionist last night. I feel like shit."

_"Your intense training yesterday led to a higher-than-average buildup of lactic acid in your muscles. This affected your body greatly."_

"That explains it." He flopped onto his back, staring idly up at the ceiling. If he stared long enough without blinking, the lights blurred into a golden glow.

For some reason he thought of daisies.


	25. Foreign Bodies

_06:55 January 12, 2104_

_Project Aurora Bunker, Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Londinium Ark_

A body lay bare on the table, still damp from the chemical cocktail in the suspension chamber. It looked like Grell Sutcliff, but it also looked nothing like her. It had no fire, no passion; she wasn't known for keeping still.

"In a year or two she'll be ready."

"Director Chambers, thank you for your invitation and thank you for flying over from Los Angeles." William turned, offering his hand politely.

"_Aleister_, please." The man insisted, giving his hand a firm shake. "No need for formalities between colleagues."

"I was informed you had something to show me?" The Reaper followed Aleister to the stainless steel table where the body lay. Cables were connected to the back of its head, trailing through a hole in the table and across the breadth of the room.

"Yes. I have completed the aesthetic stage of her construction." He beamed, gesturing at the figure. "All that's left is her programming. No need to keep moving her from lab to lab."

It made William's skin crawl. It had her red hair and fair lashes, her buttermilk skin and even the faint smattering of freckles she so hated. What differed was the body; where hers had been a female soul in a male cage, this one was female.

"Curious, how she stayed trapped." Aleister thought aloud, running his fingers softly upon the length of its left arm.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The technology to alter one's physiology existed before I was brought back." The man explained, hand resting over its slim fingers. "I've seen her body. Why didn't she change it to be female like she wanted?"

"Reaper biology differs greatly." William could remember it so clearly: the pain such knowledge caused her. "Our bodies will always return to its original state. Anything foreign, such as implants or hormone injections, will be simply rejected."

Not 'simply', William corrected mentally, it was never such a simple matter. She'd tried it and the operation left her screaming in agony and eventually led to an induced coma and an emergency operation to remove the implants and a week of recovery and a month of emotional instability, 157 unscheduled deaths, two injured colleagues and one suspension.

"Curiouser and curiouser." Aleister chuckled. "She'll have a lot to celebrate when she awakens. If only Oscar lived to see this. He was very fond of your madwoman and hoped she'd have everything she wanted in the future he wouldn't live to see."

"Mr. Wilde gifted her with first edition books of his works whenever they were published." William nodded. "She spoke often of him as a friend."

"Will this be everything she's ever wanted?" Aleister gestured. "Will she be pleased?"

"Ardently." William replied.

"Her genetic design follows Weyland's precious steel Aryans but her aesthetic design and bodily functions borrow from my Class A pleasure models." The blond leaned over the body, tipping its chin up and easing his fingers between its lips to open its mouth. "No gag reflex; excellent technique though you'll have to tell her to be careful with her teeth. I kept those the same."

The Reaper felt something akin to both anger and embarrassment fill his body.

"Her skin will break out in goosebumps and her temperature rise. She'll show all the same signs of arousal." His fingers traced from sternum to navel and William could see the tiny hairs on her arm rise. "She functions the same as a woman between the legs too."

He cupped beneath its knee, raising its leg as he spread the other.

"Standard lubrication- safe to ingest of course." Aleister shrugged. "I didn't know whether or not to have her bleed the first time you use her but really, that's-"

"_Stop_." William hissed, turning away. "She is not mine to _use_, she is not _mine_ at all. She belongs to no one but herself."

"Oh?" The Replicant blinked, gently returning the body to its original position. "The two of you were not lovers? She spoke so affectionately of you; I could do naught but assume the two of you were intimate."

"No."

"_Really_?" He laughed and the sound grated on William's ears. "I thought Victorian prudishness didn't affect your kind! I heard Reapers are deliciously carnal when it comes to pleasure."

"I am not having this conversation, Director Chambers." William growled. "Agent Sutcliff is not an object for me to possess."

"The mystery deepens." He smirked. "The short of it is that her body is completed and she'll be back in the suspension chamber for safekeeping whilst Dr. Ashwood finishes her programming. I have accurately followed the templates given to me by one of your Agents a few years ago- the young blond one with the big black glasses."

"Agent Ronald Knox?"

"Ronald, yes, that's the one." Aleister nodded. "He gave me an excerpt from her diary- one about her perfect body. It was partially modeled on Madame Angelina Durless-Barnett, as well as actress Sarah Bernhardt."

"I am grateful to you, Director Chambers."

"Is the Reaper off-duty at present?" The man asked. "I'd like to invite him over to see the finished body. I'll have her dressed so it won't shame her, not to worry."

"Agent Knox is away on duty, I apologise for his absence."

"Ah, such a shame." Aleister tisked. "It'd be nice for him to see her so close to completion. I know he holds her in such high esteem. Give him my regards, won't you, Director Spears?"

* * *

A spring in his step, Elliott opened the operating theatre doors and smiled at the blond Reaper struggling against his bonds.

"No no, none of that." He mussed his hair and wagged a finger disapprovingly at him. "You're strapped to this table nice and tightly, little Reaper."

Confused eyes met his, brows drawn tightly together in panic and worry.

"Director Chambers is back from London and he has an amazing idea for today's experiment." The crook of his left arm was swabbed before a needle was none-too-gently inserted into a vein.

"Cyanide." Elliott smiled as the Reaper's eyes widened and he doubled his struggle against the leather straps holding him down.

_Someone's coming for you, Ron. You'll be fine. They're coming. Right? _A pinprick of fear nagged at his thoughts and he blinked back sudden tears. _Don't worry. Someone's coming for you. They know you're missing. You've been gone for a day, tops. Just a day. They're coming to rescue you._

"Goodnight, Ronald. Tomorrow we wipe you out again and you'll be as fresh as a daisy." Elliott smoothed his hair back, his smile wicked.

_Daisy. Don't forget, Ronald. Daisies, remember the daisies._ He bit back a wave of nausea as the poison entered his blood. He'd had many a drinking game with the lads back home, but he'd never had the poison pumped directly into him. Shivering violently, he gave a helpless sob as what felt like ice raced through his veins.

_Just hold on. It's only been a day. They'll be here tomorrow, don't you worry. _


	26. Driving Miss Daisy

They've stopped making him forget, at least for the time being, or so Dr. Elliott Klemis informed him with great glee. It's been fifteen days; it's been an eternity. Ronald remembered each second that ticked by, but can't recall the hours with clarity. The only clarity was his interrogation cell and the stainless steel examining table with its leather straps.

He's alone for the moment, and there's a voice that told him he would stay that way. This was all he had, and all he would take with him when his tortured body finally ceased and he stepped on to the white sands of the Stella Maris.

If he closed his eyes he could imagine another life, one far away from the cold cell and the man with a heart of burning rage. He liked to remember Friday August 23rd, 2019, for that had been a good day. Grell was still alive on Friday August 23rd, 2019. Miss Daisy was Miss Dahlia that day, and he was both her chauffeur and her companion for her one mortal day.

If he closed his eyes he could smell the leather of his car instead of the sharp sting of disinfectant, or the sickening cocktail of acids currently dripping ever so slowly into his body intravenously. He could smell the scent of funeral lilies on her white skin and some sort of spiced oil in her black hair. He could see the smile on her black lips and the twinkle in her eyes.

"My little Ronnie." She looked at him and he felt small once more, felt like the Reaperling lost in London with no cap and no shoe.

"You're not Miss Daisy today, are you?" He knew it wasn't, couldn't, be real but he didn't want real.

"I'll always be Miss Daisy, Ronnie."

"You're not supposed to be here yet." It's not 2119, at least not the last time he checked, though time has been tricky as of late.

"I'm here because you called me, little deathling." Her eyes are sad and her smile pitying as she stroked his cheek with the back of her ivory fingers.

"I'm dying."

"Yes you are."

He thought it over, letting it seep into his very bones like the acid wearing away at his innards. No one was coming for him- only Death herself. No Reaper would cut his record and store his soul for the journey back to the Starry Sea. Just Death, the purest incarnation, the one to ferry him to the End.

"Please take me with you." Ronald squeezed his eyes against the churn of pain inside, and the tears rolled down his cheeks as he sobbed. "Please don't make me go back, Miss Daisy, I don't want to stay there anymore."

"Not today, my little darling." It pained her to say it, though it gave Ronald little comfort. She leaned across to kiss his cheek and when his eyes opened they were no longer in his car and it was no longer August 23rd, 2019 and he was curled on his side in the corner of a concrete room with a stainless steel examination table.

The speakers were loud and the only sound that streamed in was the sound of a puppy crying and yelping in pain. Ronald clamped his hands over his ears and shook his head and screamed, screamed and screamed for it all to end.

* * *

"I quit."

"Don't be a fool." Elliott hissed, throwing his soiled gloves into the disposal tub. "We're far from finished."

"No." Isaac gently secured the bandage around the puppy's head before easing the sedated canine into his arms. "I'm not working with a man who tortures puppies and kids."

"The Reaper is not a child," the man corrected, "he's looked like a child for centuries."

"I have a son his age and that's a boy scared for his life in your cell." He walked passed him, exiting the laboratory. He heard Elliott hasten his steps to catch up.

"He killed my sister! He killed your wife and your brother!" Elliott cut him off, standing in his way.

"One of his kind did, but not him. I bear him no grudge, and I bear no grudge against his kind. Bearing them grudges will not bring my family back." Isaac pushed passed him and continued down the corridor.

"Your family didn't need to die! My family didn't need to die!" Elliott shouted, shoving him against the wall. "We're going to stop their merciless reign!"

"I entered this program to learn about their biology and use it to cure illnesses." Isaac met his gaze evenly. "I want to use his cells to cure radiation poisoning. I want us to have a better chance against them, but I don't want to kill them. I didn't sign up to become a torturer or executioner. I didn't sign up to start another war."

"War? No one knows he's even here!"

"A boy like him, bright and gentle, do you think he won't be missed?" He scoffed, shouldering Elliott away. "His kind are coming for him."

"And what? You think treating him nicely will make them spare you?" He grabbed his wrist but Isaac yanked it out of his grasp. "Do you think they won't slaughter you because you showed him kindness?!"

He turned sharply to face him, narrowing his eyes.

"When they come for him and they slaughter us, I'll gladly go to my death with a clear conscience."

* * *

His son Aaron looked like the Reaper, and Isaac supposed that was where most of his mercy originated. But there was also mercy elicited from the fear in the boy's odd coloured eyes and the tremble in his lip and the way he curled in the corner of the room like a struck puppy.

"Ronald?" The boy flinched and hugged his knees tighter. "I'm Dr. Isaac Priestland."

"What do you have for me today, Doc?" He tried to grin, tried to joke, and Isaac can see they've broken him.

"I have your friend." The puppy was placed before him, and after a moment Ronald hesitantly laid a hand on its soft fur.

"What did you do to her?"

"We gave her your eyes." He unwound the bandage and removed the gauze patches. The pup stirred, opening eyes that were as green and gold as the Reaper's own. "So she'll see what you can see."

The Reaper said nothing, letting a minute pass before he gathered the lethargic puppy into his arms.

"You won't remember me, but I want to apologise on my colleagues behalf." Isaac removed his labcoat and tucked it around his shoulders. "My team is focused on immunology. I didn't know Director Chambers had other ideas for you. I'm sorry."

"It's ok." Ronald murmured, kissing the pup between its ears. "Death doesn't exactly inspire friendship."

"I'll make you forget the past fortnight, Ronald." Isaac promised, squeezing his shoulder. "You're going back to normal physical training for data collection. No more experiments."

He nodded, hugging the pup tighter.

"She's a golden retriever, about 7 weeks old. One of Tyrell's original pet lines marketed to children." Isaac gave the pup a scratch under its chin. "I've given her immune system a good boost from yours and George tinkered with her programming a little. If you treat her well, she'll live as long as you."

Ronald managed a smile, an honest smile that lit his tired eyes and lowered his tense shoulders in relief.

"Thanks Doc."

"Goodbye, Ronald. It was nice meeting you." He mussed his hair the way he mussed Aaron's hair at home, before guiding him back onto the table. The sedative was inserted intravenously and the boy fell asleep quickly under its influence. The memory wipe was nothing more than programming the chip implanted in his brain, no more difficult than deleting items on a computer.

The technicians would move him back to his quarters later. Isaac locked up and exited the hallway. He paused on the observation deck and looked down at the Reaper fast asleep. For a moment he thought he saw a woman as white as marble and as dark as onyx beside the boy. He met her gaze briefly and she smiled at him with black lips.

When he blinked she was gone.


	27. We Shall Be Monsters

_16:20 April 20, 2104_

_Chambers Corporation, Los Angeles, United States of America_

He doesn't look like Ronald Arthur Knox at all despite the borrowed genetics, but for the purpose of the test he doesn't need to; he was designed to look like a mortal and kill like a Reaper.

"How long until he's awake?" Aleister leaned over the body and waved a hand before its dull, two-toned eyes.

"About thirty seconds, sir. I'm just booting up the processing core." A technician informed him, checking his holographic clipboard. "His vital signs are stable and the genetic splicing has held together properly."

"Excellent." The Director clapped his shoulder fondly. "You've outdone yourself, Fraser." He backed out of the Perspex isolation chamber and rested a hand on the biometric pad. The door slid shut and locked in place.

"Thank you for your sacrifice."

"Sir?" The man's eyes widened and before he could query Aleister's words, a hand shot up and clamped around his throat. The flesh parted easily in the Replicant's hold, the artificial Reaper sitting up and pulling the man apart until his insides spilled over his newly activated body.

"No, Arthur-" Aleister sighed over the intercom. "Arthur you need to pull the _record_, my good man, the _record_ not the intestines!"

The Replicant blinked, looking at the mess before him and then over to where Aleister stood by the door.

"Record." He echoed, tilting his head slightly. "Record."

"Yes lad, can you _see_ it?" Aleister pointed at the corpse. "It looks like a film strip."

"Record." He nodded, closing his fingers around the slippery, ghostly celluloid ribbon and pulling it out of the chest cavity. Holding it out at arm's length, he nodded again. "This record."

"Yes!" He cried, clapping his hands in delight. "That's a good man!" The Thanatos Model smiled, pleased with his words, and Aleister laughed until his sides ached. Opening the door, he gave Arthur a pat on the back.

"Let's get you dressed and update your processing core to full mental capacity. I've got someone I want you to meet."

* * *

He didn't bother to hide his smugness that evening as he pulled her into his bed and removed the silks off her body. Success always made his blood burn and his heart race and his loins ache.

"We're going to cause such marvelous trouble, my pretty Robin." Her skin was coloured like porcelain and tasted like sin on his tongue. She giggled, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it from his shoulders.

"We should test him on a Reaper." Her small hands traced his sides, her left palm cupping the seal she'd burned into the flesh of his ribcage. It tingled under her touch and he closed his eyes momentarily. "You've created a killing machine but can it kill Death?"

"I need the blond for a little longer." Aleister thought aloud, admiring the soft glean of sweat on her pert breasts before dipping his head to suck on one. "We'll let our little creation train for a while before we give him a mission against a Reaper."

"Very good." She purred against his lips, straddling his waist and pushing him to lie back. Her body cleaved to his, and he groaned at her tightness and wet heat.

"Very good." He agreed, pulling her down and covering her mouth with his own to taste the sweetness of success on her tongue.

* * *

She couldn't understand how a man could be so handsome and dismiss the claim so easily. William was giving her an odd look, peering at her face closely as though inspecting each and every pore in each and every inch of skin.

She could protest but she liked peering at his face closely to inspect it too. He had such magnificent bone structure and stark colouring; pale skin and dark hair gave him the air of mystery like a dashing hero from Germanic folktales.

For some reason she felt distant and her body refused to move, as though she were trying to surface from sleep but the sleep was too warm and too comforting to abandon.

_William_, she wanted to say, _if you're this close just kiss me already._

But no words came. He rested his palm gently against her cheek and stroked her skin with his thumb. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

* * *

_11:20 April 21, 2104_

_Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Londinium base, London_

It was sitting upright on a table, eyes staring straight ahead. Red hair clung to pale skin in wet ropes and droplets of chemical solution peppered its body.

"Director Spears." It greeted him, and William faltered in his steps.

"Oops, sorry." David's voice called from behind a large holographic board. "I am testing her vocal unit. Is her voice to your liking?"

"We're trying to keep it as close to her original voice as possible, but bumping it up a few notches of course." Dr. Ashwood emerged from the computer workstation and stood beside him. "She's coming along quite nicely."

"Yes, if we continue at this rate and Director Chambers' research team sends us their part of the programming, we will activate her around this time next year." The android informed him, bringing up a work chart on the screen. "The next step will be integrating her biological material with the processing core."

William only half-listened, peering closely at the replicated face of his colleague. Its eyes were wide open and unblinking, framed by ginger lashes individually inserted along its lashline. It blinked.

"Is she conscious?" He asked, searching its face for any signs of Grell's personality.

"She isn't in there, William." Sydney answered from across the room, tinkering with a coding program. "She's hooked up to it, but she's still in her body over there." He pointed at the cryostasis pod and the multitude of cables snaked across the room and into the back of the machine's head.

The Director reached out and cupped its face, finding something so familiar in its gaze at that very moment. He could have imagined it entirely, but he swore to himself that Grell tilted her head into his hand.

"Why do you ask?" David inquired curiously, as he stepped away from the body.

"For a moment she seemed…" William paused, trying to choose the right word. "_Alive."_


	28. The United Divide

_12:30 May 30, 2104_

_Pershing Square, Los Angeles, United Americas_

"And on what has become a monumental day, President Angela Kalejaiye has added her signature to the Declaration of Unification. From May 29th, 2014, both North and South America will hereby be known as the United Americas."

Ian watched the news reel on his phone with disinterest, before pocketing it and reviewing his List. Monumental though the day had been, not everyone took it so well. Riots erupted throughout the country and the Reapers found themselves working overtime.

In a few moments another riot would break out and he, along with his rather overworked comrades, would have mortals to reap. His first target was twenty-six year-old Mark Lewis, a native Londoner who moved to Los Angeles at the age of fourteen to study. The man was scheduled to die of bloodloss from gunshot wounds; an easy reap, by all accounts, unless his soul proved strong enough to warrant a pardon.

* * *

He had to get out of the country. Mark knew the Declaration of Unification wouldn't sit too well with many, and five minutes after the announcement, he had booked the next flight back to London. He thanked whatever God out there that he'd kept his dual citizenship.

Looking around himself, he tried to spot his friend. He'd convinced him a farewell lunch right before he had to leave for the airport, and Mark couldn't refuse. Swallowing a mouthful of rising panic, he checked his bag for his passport, plane ticket and essential documents. All was in order, but he still couldn't fight the queasiness rising inside.

A gun was fired, and then another and another and another and Mark found himself running for his life. The lady to his left went down in a hail of bullets and a cut-off scream. His lungs felt as though he were breathing fire as he continued to run, ducking and hiding when he could as rioting erupted around him.

In all the chaos he somehow locked eyes with a tall man in a business-suit. He had strange eyes that seemed to glow and Mark wondered how he acted so unaffected by anarchy surrounding him. Then the next second he spotted the man behind him grab the businessman by the shoulder, forcibly turn him and drive a hand deep into the man's chest.

The businessman's scream joined the dying cries of others falling prey to deliberate or stray gunfire. Mark cowered behind a car, tears of hysteria running down his cheeks. He spared the dying man one last look before turning the corner and chasing the nearest taxi.

"Get me out of here!" He begged, hyperventilating as he locked the car door. "Take me to the airport, please!"

* * *

Arthur looked at the reel in his hands: Field Agent Ian Balakumar; aged just shy of three centuries, well-admired by his peers, soft-spoken and pleasant, and married to Defense Advisor Harvey Jackson. He threw the film strip onto the bloodied pavement and crushed it underfoot. Director Chambers had no use for such things.

"Wh-what are you?" The Reaper choked, eyes wide. Arthur crouched, picking up the man's discarded Scythe and driving it into his heart.

"Your Death."


	29. The Parting Glass

_18:43 October 17, 2104_

_The Wastelands, Trafalgar, London_

"Keep your guard up," Eric warned her, his face but a small square in the bottom left corner of her helm, "and your presence down."

"Yes Agent Slingby." Charlotte nodded, standing still as System ran a final diagnostic check on her armoured suit.

"The weather's settled so we're not getting many storms anymore, but the dry spell means the rotting creatures are resurfacing to feed again." The Scotsman continued. "We cleared westward last week, but North's still pretty buggered."

"Thank you for your input, Agent Slingby." The icy voice of the Director interrupted and Charlotte felt her posture stiffen. "We can handle this just fine."

"Look after my little girl." Eric ordered, and Charlotte wished to sink through the grates beneath her boots.

"She hardly needs looking after, but I will perform my duties as her Senior." William replied authoritatively. "Let's go."

The patrol moved to the first lock, cycling out three more times before reaching what was left of London. They took their usual sweep pattern, checking pathogen reading stations, radiation monitors, looking for both demonic and angelic presence.

The Director behaved as one of her regular squadmates, doing no less work than they. The Reapings were slowing down after almost a century of the Great Dying, but that made their work no less difficult and far more hazardous. Human souls left alone too long festered, deteriorated, and turned into angry things - seeking to strike and maim, to feed.

The skin of her armour fluoresced with purple and blue with electricity. "Biocloud."

The air might have appeared perfectly clear, but it was swarming with a pathogen that had alerted her suit's defenses.

And this was a normal patrol.

There were two Reaps in her schedule - from the look of Mark Lewis, the new pathogen was of the bubonic variety. He could see her, and told her to for fuck's sake please hurry. And it was too bad he couldn't see her pretty face because her tits looked spectacular.

"Not a bad way… oh, please it feels like they're on fire…" His face twisted in pain.

Snip.

For the most part, Charlotte generally did not use her Deathscythe outside of actual combat; pruning secateurs were more than ample against weakened souls in decaying bodies. The Director watched as she made the collection and reviewed the record. There was little remarkable in the life of Mark Lewis: born in London to loving mothers, moved to Los Angeles to study, built a career on hard work and perseverance, was caught up in the Pershing Square riots-

"Wait."

"Did you see-" Charlotte's throat was dry, her heart thumping loudly in her chest as her breathing quickened.

"Run it back." William ordered, though there was a waver in his voice. The squadron huddled around the rapidly cooling corpse, and Charlotte let the record run its course again.

"The Reaper- there!" Eoghan exclaimed. "He killed him! The Reaper killed the other Reaper!"

"What kind of fucking show are they running in America?" Peter scoffed.

"This matter must be investigated immediately." The Director nodded as Charlotte harvested the record and stored it in her CORVID drive. "Agent Aberdeen, you will take Agents Carnegie and Moloney with you to Los Angeles. I will have Administration send word to Dispatch. It might do well to contact Chambers Corporation and see if they have surveillance on the issue."

"Yes sir." They answered.

"You leave first light by the morrow." William sent the instructions back to the office, before turning to Charlotte. "We need to examine that record. Have Archives duplicate it and send it to my office. All of you are to meet me for a debriefing in two hours."

"Yes sir."

* * *

Stiff drinks were needed after the debriefing. They'd watched a Reaper murder one of its own kind without provocation or hesitation: it sent chills down their spine, seeing him tear out the Reaper's record and damage it irreparably. The Director concluded the case a matter of paramount importance, and issued an order to station Agents, Peter, Tiffany and Eoghan in Los Angeles to investigate the matter.

They stumbled, yelled, shouted and slurred another round of 'The Parting Glass' and Charlotte laughed until tears dotted her lashes. Mackenzie finished the song with a flourish of strumming on his guitar, earning applause all round.

"To bed with ye all!" The younger Scotsman roared. "You need to be upright for the mission tomorrow!"

"Shut it you cad, we're on a plane for hours and hours before the mission starts." The Irishman drawled before thumping the table. "We'll catch up on our sleep then!"

"Goodnight, and joy be with you all." Charlotte sang sweetly, holding up her glass for one last toast.

"Goodnight, and joy be with you all!" They chorused, clinking their glasses against hers.

She downed her glass, enjoying the pleasant buzz and flood of warmth brought on by the alcohol. She smiled at her friends, finding herself taking in their silly grins and sleepy smiles and for some reason a part of her feared for their safety in such an unstable environment as the rioting Americas.

_Never you mind Charlotte_, she chided herself, _they'll be just fine_.


	30. Goodnight, Love

_10:30 October 28, 2104_

_Chambers Corporation, Los Angeles, United Americas_

"Welcome to the Chambers Corporation, Agents." Aleister greeted, shaking their hands. "It goes unsaid that you have our full co-operation for this investigation, but all that can wait. You must be tired."

"Bloody knackered, if you'll excuse my language." Eoghan sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "L.A. Dispatch aren't exactly in the mood for guests, not after what happened to one of their own."

"Terrible event, that," Aleister clicked his tongue and shook his head in pity, "but we all must do our bit to help. Now, why don't you follow this good fellow here and we'll get you settled."

"Good morning, my name is Dr. Elliott Klemis."

* * *

"This may sting a little, and I apologise in advance." Elliott swabbed the crook of Tiffany's arm with iodine before easing the needle into a vein. "It's routine we take a blood sample of any person who walks into the headquarters so we can upload it into the biometric system."

"Sure." Tiffany stifled a yawn, nudging her glasses up with her hand so she could rub her eye. The Reapers of the Los Angeles Dispatch were still reeling from the death of one of their own, worsened upon the discovery that the Agent's Cinematic Record was destroyed.

"There we are, all done." The full vial was eased away and the needle removed. "This is just a harmless identification dye in your blood, mixed in with a vitamin suspension." A hypospray was pressed into her shoulder and a shot of warmth filled her body. "It's only mildly drowsy, but mostly it's your own fatigue being affected."

She nodded, allowing the man to help her to her feet before her fiancé shouldered her. They aided each other in stumbling to their guest quarters, waving Eoghan to his room before the pair of them collapsed on the bed.

"Fuck the video log," Peter murmured into the crook of her neck, "we'll get to that tomorrow."

There was no argument on her part. Tiffany closed her eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

'_Subject Tiffany H. Carnegie; homo mortis, female, age unknown'_

"Sample being uploaded. Next."

'_Subject Peter D. Aberdeen; homo mortis, male, age unknown.'_

"Sample being uploaded. Next."

'_Subject Eoghan Moloney; homo mortis, male, age unknown.' _

"Sample being uploaded. Three out of three; no further samples."

'_Received for processing.'_

"Excellent. Notify Director Chambers."

* * *

"Hey Boss-man," Peter greeted, shifting so Tiffany and Eoghan could fit in front of the screen, "we're all here in one piece."

"Communications received the report from the Los Angeles Dispatch." William shuffled the electronic papers on his tablet. "Needless to say, their unimpressed, impatient tone can easily be read."

"They had nothing to give to his husband." Eoghan shook his head. "Mangled corpse, lost soul and ruined Cinematic Record. It wasn't the most honourable way to go."

"The Reapers on duty for that riot were too spread out and didn't see a thing." Tiffany explained. "Chambers' team are pulling all the surveillance streams they can for us, so we'll review that tomorrow after they've compiled it."

"Understood." The Director paused. "Have you heard anything about Agent Knox?"

"Pup's still missing." Peter sighed. "Not a peep from the Reapers here, but Chambers said once we're done reviewing the surveillance streams we can use their facilities here to see if there's any news on Ron."

"Good." William massaged the bridge of his nose. "Director Chambers mentioned needing volunteers for motion capture and physics algorithms for Agent Sutcliff's processing core. The three of you will be stationed there for the next six months."

"Boss you can't be serious!" Eoghan protested. "We didn't pack for a long-term stay!"

"Director Chambers has assured me you will be provided for, and you can notify your squadron and have them send any belongings you wish to transfer."

"Fine." He sighed, irritated. "We'll report back with our findings tomorrow."

"Thank you." The Director nodded. "Dismissed."

* * *

Only a day had passed, but Tiffany's body ached with fatigue. Jetlag, she thought, it's all catching up now I have downtime.

Beside her Peter snored, his slumped posture matching her own level of exhaustion. She thwapped him with her pillow.

"Get up, we've got that video to review!"

* * *

_Remember his face, Tiff, he's coming for you tomorrow! Remember, please remember!_

* * *

Only a day had passed, and for some reason the jetlag was catching up after a week's flurry of activity at the L.A. Dispatch. Tiffany dismissed it, pinning it down to finally easing into a relaxing routine and her body finally realizing it didn't need to work at full capacity.

Beside her Peter snored, sprawled on his stomach and cheek mushed into his pillow. She positioned her foot against his hip and kicked him out of bed.

"Get up, we've got that video to review!"

* * *

_Don't forget- Klemis is operating on you! It's him! He's behind the whole thing! Don't forget his face! Remember him, Tiff, remember!_

* * *

Why was she so damn tired? It'd only been a day since they'd settled into the private wing of the Chambers Corporation high security building. Her limbs ached and her throat felt awfully dry.

Must be the jetlag catching up, she thought. Turning over, she shook Peter's shoulder.

"Get up, we've got that video to review!"

* * *

Elliott uploaded the latest findings, whistling a cheery tune. Losing Ronald Knox to his weak-hearted colleague, Isaac, proved only a minor setback. Director Chambers soon provided him with three more subjects, and a much smaller research team in permanent lockdown.

The isolation was perfect from prying, sniveling little soft-spots like Priestland, and Elliott felt his chest swell with pride at the thought that Director Chambers entrusted such a project to him.

'_The latest text report has been sent to the London Dispatch.'_

"And they still suspect nothing?"

'_Affirmative. No suspicions have arisen since the Agents arrived last month.'_

"And the neural links in the test subjects?"

'_The homo mortis subjects are unaware substantial days have passed since they arrived last month. The subjects are also unaware of the experiments that have occurred, due to memory erasure.'_

"Excellent, Sweets." He gave the screen a pat on the side. "We'll wrap things up tomorrow. We need more samples than they can provide whilst still alive."

* * *

_10:30 November 15, 2104_

_Thanatos Initiative bunker, Los Angeles, United Americas_

"Good morning, Agents, I trust you slept well last night?" Elliott greeted them with a polite smile.

"Still a bit sore." Peter winced, stretching gingerly. "Jetlag's a right bastard."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Hopefully it shall wear off soon enough." Elliott commiserated with a faint, apologetic smile. "We've prepared the surveillance streams for you, so if you'd like to follow me-?" They filed down the hallway after the man, Tiffany unable to shake a mildly queasy feeling from her stomach. A good cup of tea and scrambled eggs on toast would hit the spot.

A faint pinch of pain suddenly jabbed at her neck, and then her vision went black.

* * *

"-those. Load it into the CORVID drive."

Her head swam and she groggily tried to sit up. There was an awful coppery scent in the room.

"Harvest everything. I want tissue samples of all major organs, I want blood vials, I want nerves, muscles, bones, hair, vitriol- I need the eyes intact. Both. I want slides made up. Now now now, people!"

"Wh-wha-" She slurred, finding it hard to keep her eyes open.

"Agent Carnegie is awakening, Dr. Klemis." A face appeared in front of her and a deep, deep chill of panic settled in her chest.

"Y-you! YOU!" Tiffany tried to sit up and found herself bound to an examining table. "You're the killer! You killed the Reaper at the riots!"

"Yes. And I killed that one also." He pointed to the table behind him and Tiffany felt nausea churn her stomach.

Eoghan was cut open from sternum to abdomen, ribcage pulled apart and organs being extracted one by one. He was missing one eye, the other currently being extracted with utmost care. Blood washed the examining table and the concrete floor and Tiffany gave an anguished cry.

"You're a Reaper, how can you do this to one of your own?!" Tiffany screamed, straining against her bonds. "What do you want from us?!"

"I am a Reaper's Reaper." The man explained. "They will make more like me and we will do more like this." He gestured at Eoghan's cadaver before pointing over to Tiffany's right. "I will kill this one next, and then I will kill you and they will study the samples and make more like me and we will kill more like you."

He walked over to the other table where Peter was only beginning to surface from sedation. Tiffany could only watch in horror as the man pulled his head back by the hair before dragging a scalpel across Peter's throat. Blood bubbled up from the hairline wound before jetting out in spurts as the arteries were severed.

Peter turned his head to the side, catching her grief-stricken gaze. His bloodstained lips turned up in a faint smile, and he mouthed something.

_Goodnight, love._

She screamed his name over and over as she watched the light fade from his eyes. Autopsy tools were used to cut and carve him open and she was hysterical with agony. Through the haze of her hysteria she realized one thing- seemingly overlooked by the team of murderers and yet perhaps the most important thing of all.

_He can only see Records_, Tiffany closed her eyes and smiled, _he can only see Records._ She found herself laughing, soon choking on her blood as she gurgled through her newly slit throat. The Los Angeles Reapers would find anomalies on their Lists soon.

_He can't see souls. All is not lost. _


	31. Guilty as Charged

_10:30 December 5, 2104_

_Thanatos Initiative bunker, Los Angeles, United Americas_

"I got a puppy for Christmas!" Ronald held the squirming pup in front of the screen, laughing when Daisy gave a bark. "It's from Tyrell Corporation's old pet line and the staff were using the blueprints for Captain's programming. Dr. Priestland gave them permission to give me one. Her name's Daisy!"

Daisy wriggled, pawing at the screen curiously. Ronald hugged her to his chest, resting his chin between her floppy ears.

"I haven't been here long but everyone's alright. It's just basic physical workouts they're getting me to do, and although I feel a bit like a guinea pig it's a great feeling knowing I'm helping Captain out."

He picked up the tablet from his desk and held it up.

"Can you believe this stuff, though? The storms out in the Wastelands haven't stopped since early December and it's a few days til New Year now!" Tapping the top of the page, he pointed out the date. "December 27, 2103 and it's still raging out there! Stay safe, guys, especially you, Charlotte!"

Placing the tablet back down, he let Daisy sit on the desk and sniff the screen.

"Anyway, thanks for the last video log. I know the storms are messin' up communications so we have no live video feed but I'm glad you rascals haven't forgotten little old me stuck here in America." Daisy licked the screen, and Ronald snorted. "Daisy, careful! A belated Merry Christmas to you jolly bastards, and a Happy New 2104 when it comes around! Ronald Knox, signing out."

* * *

The testing facilities, so Ronald understood, were fifteen miles from the Chambers Corporation headquarters. At ground level it appeared a large warehouse in the middle of wastelands, but the rest of the facility lay beneath in three levels of isolated, protective concrete and electromagnetic shields. He lived on level two along with all the staff, the testing grounds and laboratories were on level three, and level one housed was an entire Holodeck that replicated Los Angeles before nuclear fallout.

"You're Ron, aren't you?" A young man asked, offering him his hand. "I'm Aaron Priestland, Dr. Isaac's son. Dad told me to come fetch you because the tech staff are ready."

"Hey, nice to meet you Aaron." Ronald shook the offered hand. "Sure thing, lead the way."

It was a fine, sunny day on the Holodeck, and beside him Daisy trotted alongside with a branch in her mouth. Fetch was her favourite game, he'd quickly learnt.

"You work here too, Aaron?" He asked the young, lanky teen walking beside him. "You seem pretty young."

"Nah, I'm just here passing time. Dad's off for the weekend and we're going to stay in one of the company hotels in the city for a bit of a break." Aaron knelt, wrestling the branch from Daisy and giving it a good throw. She darted off to retrieve it, and both boys laughed at her clumsy, uncoordinated galloping. "We don't get to spend much time as a family since dad's always working on long research assignments."

"Sounds good, lad. I hope you and your folks have a great time." Ronald clapped his shoulder before kneeling to scoop Daisy up as she returned, branch and all. "Hey, quick question: who's that guy over there that looks like he's sucked on a lemon?"

"Who?" Aaron followed his gaze. "Oh, that's Dr. Elliott Klemis."

"He's seething at me like I stole his puppy." Ronald wrinkled his nose.

* * *

"Sweets, I need you to hack into that dog's brain and control her remotely." Elliott ordered, taking a seat in front of the large screen in the heart of his laboratory. "It's time Ronald met Arthur."

'_Yes sir; initiating neural override. Remote access program activated: Weyland Therapeutics Traumatic Stress Disorder Synthetic Assistance Animal DZ-7001.' _

* * *

She ought to tell him off for staring at her so intently. If she had something on her face, the least he could do was be polite about it. Really now, wasn't he supposed to be a gentleman?

Her vision blurred momentarily and she blinked a few times to clear her eyes. William reached out and ran his thumb across her lashes, wiping away the moisture. Had she been crying? Was that it? How romantic, she thought.

People were talking behind her but her body felt too heavy to turn. William was talking, too, and no one was talking to her and it was irritating.

She huffed. _Really now, what's a lady to do to get attention around here?_

'_Remote access program activated: Weyland Therapeutics Traumatic Stress Disorder Synthetic Assistance Animal DZ-7001'_

What? Where was that coming from? There was a buzzing sound in her head and the voice of a female giving instructions and suddenly she was on the ground looking up and up and up and, why, wasn't that-

It stood upright before him, dripping suspension liquid onto cold conrete, staring straight through him with a vapid gaze. He took a step to the side and it slowly turned to face him once more.

"Her programming seeks to recognize and identify all objects and persons in her peripheral vision." David explained, uploading instructions through the computer wirelessly from his own mind and feeding it to the machine standing in front of William. "Ask her to identify you."

"Identify me." William commanded.

"William Talbot Spears: male, homo mortis, age unknown. Director of the London Soul Reaper Division; on active duty." Its mouth moved and its lips formed the words and its voice sounded smooth and measured. "Comrade."

"Identify all personnel in this room."

"David Weyland: male, David8 TIPE upgrade, aged seventy-nine years." A pause. "Sydney Ashwood: male, homo mortis, age unknown. Doctor of Biomechanical Engineering, Nanotechnological Engineering and advanced Robotics. Status: Allies."

"Why does she need this programming?" William asked, unable to stop looking at its sculpted face and the faint smattering of freckles painted on the polyurethane skin. "She will remember me and she will learn about you. Why does she need a database?"

"Because Agent Sutcliff's history has revealed a long-running history of violence." David informed him. "Should she revert to unnecessary violence, her programming will force her to recognize allies and avoid dealing them damage."

"Grell Sutcliff needs no programming to prevent dealing damage to her allies." William argued.

"She put you through a wall, William." Sydney laughed as the man bristled. "We've seen the logs."

"We were having an argument." The Director replied curtly, running his thumb across its ginger lashes to wipe away the droplets of liquid beading on the hairs.

"I'm sure you were." He cackled.

"Ronald." It spoke and they all fell silent. William cupped its face and stared into its eyes.

"Grell?"

"Ronald, don't." It stared straight through him, but he could detect something desperate in its voice. "Master, no. Don't follow. No. Ronald, don't."

"Don't what, Grell?" William grasped both its shoulders and gave it a gentle shake. "Grell, can you hear me?"

"Her processing core has picked up a signal intended for something else." David's eyes flickered as he entered her programming matrix. "It is an old Tyrell Corporation program that Mr. Weyland rewrote to suit Agent Sutcliff's needs."

"Find the source!" William demanded, hands still on its shoulders. "Find it!"

"It seems to be intended for a Tyrell Corporation canine companion unit." David began to pick the signal apart, running it through his database. "They were created in 2018 and ceased production in 2019 after the collapse of the company. Weyland Corporation resumed production in 2020 to aid people with post-traumatic stress disorder before the company ceased production in 2025 when the first David units were released. Few units remain worldwide, many having been destroyed or abandoned."

"She uses basic Tyrell Replicant neural structure," Sydney thought aloud, "perhaps that is why she is picking up such a signal."

"Then Agent Knox is closeby? He is still in England?" William searched its face, trying to detect any signs of life. "Grell can you see where he is? David, tell me where the signal is coming from!"

"I cannot, sir." David shook his head. "It is encrypted for security purposes."

"Grell? Grell can you hear me?" William grabbed its face, bringing it in closer. "Grell?"

"Ronald, please." It uttered one last time before closing its eyes and slumping slightly. It moved no longer.

* * *

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Robin asked, laying her hand on Aleister's arm. The man sat stock-still in his chair, staring straight ahead.

"Ronald, please."

"Aleister?" She tried again, sitting herself on the desk and facing him. "Master?" Reaching out, she cupped his face and pressed her nose to his. "Can you hear me?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Aleister blinked, before smiling. "Robin, my dear, I have papers to approve. I cannot do that if you're sitting on them, little bird." Hooking his hands under her arms, he lifted her onto his lap.

"Why did you ask about Ronald?" The Demon cocked her head curiously, little fingers fiddling with his shirt buttons.

"Ronald?" The man frowned. "I didn't ask about him, my dear. Did you read his name in my papers?"

"Never you mind, sir." She smiled, tucking it away for further investigation mentally before she kissed his jaw. "It isn't important."

* * *

Ronald followed the golden retriever, pitching after her as she ran through long corridors and down two flights of stairs in the fire escape.

"Daisy! C'mon lovey, what's wrong? Where are you taking me?" He called, trying to keep up. The surroundings were unfamiliar to him and seemed extremely cold and out of place compared to the gymnasium rooms he'd grown accustomed to. These seemed to resemble psychiatric rooms, complete with an observation floor that looked down into the clinical cells.

"Daisy!" She had stopped in front of an operating theatre's double doors, trembling all over and whining softly. Ronald crouched, giving her pat and noticing she had wet herself. "Bit spooked, are we? C'mon, let's check if they've got some gauze in here to get you cleaned up."

"Clean up on aisle three!" He scooped her up and kissed her head, pushing open the double doors. "Anyone home?"

Three bodies lay on three examining tables, each body bearing an autopsy Y-cut on its torso. Each body stilled in death.

Ronald felt his knees give way and he fell to the floor. Daisy jumped from his arms, hiding in the corner with a whimper as Ronald crawled to the nearest table and shakily got to his feet by using one of its legs as support.

"Tiff?" His hand shook as he gingerly touched her dark cloud of hair. "Tiffany?" As a Reaper, he knew no life resided in the body. He could see no Record, but he could feel a soft, dim glow of a weak soul awaiting collection.

"Who did this, Tiff?" His voice cracked as a sob forced itself from his throat. "Tiff, who did this to you?" His fingers traced the curve of her brow and he felt his stomach drop. A glance across the room revealed Peter and Eoghan in a similar state, and Ronald's world fell apart.

"Who did this to you?!" He yelled hoarsely, looking around himself as though he could bully answers from the walls. "Pete?" Ronald touched his cold shoulder, giving it a nudge. "Pete?"

"Eoghan, mate." He sobbed, stumbling to the last table and placing a hand on his arm. "Mate, why are you here? Who did this?"

"I did." A deep male voice answered, and Ronald spun to face a tall Reaper with sugar-white hair crowning a sculpted Germanic face. In his hand he held a scalpel. "And I will add your body beside theirs."

"You're one of us! How could you do this?" Ronald felt the rage rise like bile in his throat and he grabbed the Reaper by the neck and slammed him against the wall. "You haven't even completed their collections, you fucking heartless bastard!"

"Collections were not my priority. My priority was to kill them so their organs and bodily matter could be harvested for research." He calmly pried Ronald's hand from his throat and shoved it away.

He moved without thinking. Lunging for the Reaper, Ronald tackled him to the ground and wrested the scalpel out of his grasp. It slid across the floor and out of their reach. With a growl the taller man kicked Ronald off of him and punched him with force comparable to a sledgehammer. Reeling back, Ronald cracked his jaw back into place before returning the blows. A sudden thought occurred to him.

"Daisy fetch!" He cried, grabbing the Reaper's head and bringing it down against an empty examining table, one he knew was intended for him. "DAISY!"

The sound of paws skittering against concrete caught his attention, and he snatched the scalpel out of the canine's mouth before stabbing it into his opponent's throat and gouging through his flesh.

"You will rot in that corpse!" Ronald cried, kicking the twitching body. "There will be no respite for your soul!"

Panting, he slumped against the wall for support. Daisy hesitantly approached him, before clambering onto his lap and nosing his hand.

"There's a good girl. Thanks to you, your old man's not gonna end up on that table." He managed a smile, heart pounding and nerves thrumming with adrenalin. His smile faded when he looked at the Reaper's corpse. No record had burst forth, and no soul glowed within.

"Oh holy fuck." Ronald breathed, the discovery making his head ache. "They can make Reapers now."


	32. A Soldier on My Own

_09:00 December 6, 2104_

_Thanatos Initiative bunker, Los Angeles, United Americas_

"And where is the Reaper now?"

"Heavily sedated in one of the cells." Elliott replied with a smirk. "With Priestland away and his team on another project I thought I'd borrow the Reaper for a little while."

"He did a fine job with slashing Arthur's throat in some sort of poetic revenge for his friends." Aleister commended with a laugh. "Poor Arthur: test subjects usually suffer such a fate, especially if they are the first of their batch."

"No matter. With the material harvested from the three Reapers, I've got more than enough to create better models." The scientist reassured him. "I'll have a new batch ready in about a month."

"Good man, Klemis." Aleister chuckled. "I have complete faith in you."

"Thank you sir." He beamed, chest puffed with pride. "I am proud to serve my country and my kind."

"Which is why I'm leaving this base to you." The blond slid a keypass within reach, before leaning back and making a steeple with his hands. "I'm returning to the main base to work on a military contract before flying back to England for a while, to finish one of my joint projects with Weyland's old team."

"But sir-"

"You can do this, Klemis, I know you can." Aleister smiled. "You're brilliant and driven, and you have all the tools. Now, more than ever, we need your expertise. There are plenty of rogue armies combining forces outside the Arks, threatening our hard work- threatening our very lives."

The Replicant stood, pacing by the large window and opening the small door on the large gilded cage. A robin hopped onto his finger, trilling sweetly.

"Chambers Corporation is primarily a military company. We build war machines and the Americans sure love their war machines." Aleister chuckled, shaking his head. "I am needed back at the main headquarters as well as over in England. That is why I am leaving Thanatos to you, my friend."

"It is an honour, sir." Elliott nodded in understanding. "I won't let you down."

"You must understand: no one knows about this project. This is highly classified and it needs to stay that way." He warned, petting the bird softly. "This testing facility exists outside of the Corporation's knowledge, funded privately out of my own pocket and a select board of investors."

"It will remain classified, sir, I assure you."

"That's a good man!" He laughed, shaking his hand and giving him a clap on the shoulder. "But as a precaution, this facility is in complete lockdown until the project is completed. Any attempt to leave will trigger the self-destruct mechanism. We can't take any chances, dear friend. You understand, don't you?"

* * *

"Thank fucking Christ we've got the live feed up again!" Eoghan laughed, waving cheerily.

"Hey mate!" Ronald greeted, plopping Daisy on the desk so she could sniff the screen in greeting. "How are things back in 'sunny' London?"

"Bloody peachy, thanks." The Irishman rolled his eyes. He scooted over, and Ronald lit up as Tiffany and Peter took a seat beside him.

"Tiff! Pete! How's it goin', guys?"

"Busy." Tiffany sighed with a shake of her head. "Storms have laid off but we're getting snowfall by the metre."

"Boss has us out on two-day turnarounds though, so we're not freezing our arses off in the Wastes." Peter informed him with a wry grin. "How are things in sunny L.A.?"

"The usual. Perfect simulated weather and really mundane physical mapping." Ronald rolled his eyes, idly giving Daisy a pat. She whimpered, whining sadly at the screen and pawing it.

"Your pup okay, Ron?" Tiffany cooed, leaning in closer as though wishing she could pet her.

"Daisy, what's up, love?" He ran a hand along her fur and felt her tremble.

"Ron?" Eoghan asked, voice showing concern. "You alright, mate?"

"O'course I am, why?"

"You're crying." He pointed out, and Ronald touched under his eye. When he drew his hand back, his fingers were wet.

"Oh. I don't- I mean, I didn't even know I was doing that." His voice broke, and his chest felt as though a crushing weight pushed down on it. "Why am I crying?"

Sad. He felt unbearably, irreconcilably sad and he wiped his eyes clumsily.

"Take care o' yourself, mate." Eoghan voiced gently. "It's a hard slog, I know, and we miss you but you're doin' great. Hang in there."

Ronald nodded, reaching out and turning off the screen. Daisy pressed her nose against his cheek and gave him a lick, nudging against his jaw worriedly. The blonde gathered her up and flopped onto his bed. He began to cry in earnest now, the sobs making his chest heave. He couldn't ascertain the reason for it, but it felt as though his heart had been stabbed.

* * *

"_The Reaper is showing extreme levels of stress."_

"What? Aren't those simulated video logs supposed to lower stress and boost morale?" Elliott watched the closed-circuit feed, noting the Reaper curled up in bed. His body shook as though he were crying.

"_Any experiments performed on the Reaper will yield compromised results."_

"Can't we just inject him with serotonin and Valium?"

"_His mental state has been altered, despite the memory wipe. He was been compromised."_

"Suggestions, Sweets?"

"_Place the subject in cryostasis and perform a thorough memory deletion. It is best experiments begin with a blank slate."_

"Alright. Send one of the team to bring him in. We'll freeze him and wipe out everything after his implanted arrival memories."

"_I suggest the canine accompany him."_

"Kill it. It's no longer useful."

"_I strongly suggest the canine accompany him, sir. The canine keeps his morale high and provides an ample distraction. It can also be remotely programmed."_

"Fine. Tell them to bring the dog too."

"_Yes sir."_

* * *

_07:00 December 13, 2104_

_Residential Quadrant C, Los Angeles, United Americas_

He had only planned to take a weekend off, but Director Chambers gave him a week. He took it without question, enjoying the rare time with his son and their relatives. Isaac missed his wife dearly in times like these; the mornings seemed colder and less beautiful no matter the sunshine that streamed through the windows.

Logging into the Chambers network, Isaac sat in his armchair and brought up his work email. A heavily encrypted file was run through the decoding program, revealing an access number once completed. Isaac pressed it and his tablet churned it through the network.

"Good morning Doctor." Aleister Chambers greeted him with a friendly smile.

"Good morning, Director Chambers."

"Old chap, I need you back at the Chambers HQ with me. The team here are useless, I'll have you know, and the vaccine they've been developing has some very nasty side-effects."

"With all due respect, sir, I'd prefer to stick with my current project." Isaac smiled apologetically and Aleister's cheery smile, though it remained in place, took on an icy appearance.

"Here's the thing, Doctor, the base is in lockdown until the project is completed. If I open the base to let you in, you can't leave for at least three months. No sick leave, no holiday leave- not even a weekend to visit your son."

"Where is the blonde Reaper?"

"In stasis. The rather _unfortunate_ meeting between him and our Thanatos model in the operating theatre didn't go down too well. He's emotionally fragile so he's been put on ice until the team have wiped his memory."

"Is Dr. Klemis heading the operation?"

"Of course. I wouldn't trust it with anyone else."

"Send me back. Lock me in if you must." Isaac grit his teeth. "I am not leaving that boy with that monster. You've already approved reports stating he was no longer needed for experiments. I could use his help in developing your vaccine."

"Oh you're smooth, old chap, very smooth!" Aleister laughed brightly. "I'll have them prepare for your arrival at midday. Pack for a long stay."

"Yes sir." Isaac closed the video window and sank into his armchair with a sigh. Closing his eyes, he massaged the bridge of his nose and tried to banish the sick feeling boiling his stomach.

"You're leaving again, aren't you?" The voice of his son asked quietly, and when Isaac opened his eyes Aaron stood in front of him.

"I have to. I can't leave him with Elliott, Aaron. That man used him as a lab rat for almost a year before I caught wind of it and managed to stop him." He stood, reaching to place a hand on his son's shoulder. "He's a good boy, Aaron, just like you. He can help me develop this vaccine and I can help keep him out of Elliott's way."

His son was quiet for a while, and Isaac watched the emotions flit across his face.

"I always thought Death was a monster and humans its helpless prey. I always thought it would be terrible and ugly and merciless. But he's not."

"If the boy was an angel of Life, people would fall over themselves to try and rescue him." Isaac squeezed his shoulder. "Death is just as necessary, just as _important_ as Life. He doesn't deserve less help because he ends lives. That is his duty and he doesn't shy from it, even if it garners him intense hatred."

"Save him, dad." Aaron nodded firmly. "Keep the monster away from him."

* * *

_14:20 December 27, 2104_

_Thanatos Initiative bunker, Los Angeles, United Americas_

"Good afternoon, Agent Ronald Knox, my name is Dr. Isaac Priestland." He held out his hand and Ronald shook it firmly. "Welcome to the Chambers Corporation testing facility."

"Nice to meet you, mate." Ronald grinned. "Pretty fancy place you got here!"

"We are an isolated laboratory and testing facility, allowing work to be incubated and cultured here away from outside influences." Isaac explained, leading Ronald down the corridors of the residential floor. "You will be aiding the Immunology team develop a vaccine against radiation poisoning, as well as helping the Cybernetic Programmers as they harvest data from your movements to aid in Project Aurora's coding."

"Sure thing." The Reaper shrugged, hands behind his head as he walked alongside the man. "Doc, you sure you need to be the one to show me around? I don't want to be a bother. You're a pretty important gent around here from what I can gather."

"No, not at all." Isaac reassured, keying in a passcode and stepping to the side when the door opened. "Here are your quarters, and a special someone we want you to meet."

"A pup!" Ronald laughed, dropping to his knee and scooping up the excited golden retriever. "Hey pal!"

"She's an old Tyrell companion canine Weyland Corporation reintroduced in the late 2020s. Her programming is an important blueprint for your colleague's coding." Isaac explained, unable to stop himself from smiling as Ronald kissed her soft fur and received a lick in return. "We've taken all the data we can from her, so we thought she could be a good friend to you now."

"A 'she' huh?" Ronald held the pup up as though inspecting her, bringing her in close so their noses touched. "I'll name you after a good friend of mine. I'll call you Daisy."


	33. Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things

_07:20 March 21, 2105_

_Project Aurora Bunker, Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Londinium Ark_

"Sir, there were…complications. We are unsure as to whether or not she has been compromised."

"William, her Record isn't agreeing with the processing core. It's having trouble integrating with the programming, causing it to be highly unstable." Dr Ashwood explained, and there's ice in his spine and a pit in his stomach.

"You need to make a choice, sir." David gestured at the two bodies; laid side by side they were almost indistinguishable from each other, save for the rose clippers embedded in Grell's chest. "Are we to proceed with the project?"

"I want you to understand the gravity of the situation. We are essentially moving her record and soul into a heart and mind made of Grey Metal- the same metal used for Scythes. It's the only inorganic material that accepts Reaper genetics." Sydney rested a hand on her head gently. "If they do not integrate, the Grey Metal will absorb it and she will be lost."

The Elder walked over to William, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Proceed and we risk the destruction of both Record and soul; shut down the project and you will have to Reap her and there will be no going back."

"This is a most difficult decision, Director Spears." David empathised best he could, his smile apologetic. "We will leave you time to think. Please approach us when ready."

* * *

He sought the Rose with Steel Thorns and found her in Administration, logging her reports.

"Agent Hayward."

"Hello David." She nodded in greeting. "How may I help you?"

"The Director is need of good counsel." He glanced at the closest screen, bringing up a live feed of the bunker. William stood by the examining tables, hands behind his back and expression pensive. "I know he listens to yours in times of personal trouble."

Charlotte said nothing for a while, measuring her words carefully and balancing them against her thoughts.

"I don't regard myself important enough to him to discuss personal matters."

"Records have shown you were present when the fledgling incident occurred, and provided him emotional support." The android informed her with an encouraging smile. "His grief crippled him and you aided in his return to functioning at full capacity."

"No, David." She corrected with an encouraging smile of her own. "He isn't at full capacity. You may think such, since his performances at his duties have not faltered, but he is far from fully healed. He hides it very well, though. I guess you could call it a limp rather than being immobilized."

"Please help him. I understand human emotions, although I do not feel them myself." The words were old and he recited them with ease. "But I cannot fix him like I can fix computer algorithms."

"Alright, I'll see what I can do."

He watched Charlotte take her leave, and in his mind he saw the Rose of Highgarden with her long brown hair and doe eyes; beautiful and gentle, with all the world's graces at her command. The Rose, always a rose, but a rose with steel thorns that could wound and remind people beauty was not all she possessed.

David wandered not to the bunker but to the South Wing of the Division, where Engineering was housed. He needed to think and program and be among creatures that thought and programmed all day. Director William Talbot Spears was crippled with grief, and Agent Hayward said he disguised it so well it was barely a limp. Perhaps William was a little like Willas, the Heir of Highgarden; gentle, pious, good-hearted Willas Tyrell.

Closing his eyes he logged into the VIOLA mainframe, connecting to System's classified Project Aurora archives. He needed to do this; the coding had to integrate and stabilize and he wanted to give her back to him. He wanted to earn his keep though he knew he'd never be accepted as one of them. He was an Other despite possessing Reaper knowledge and Reaper eyes and a skeleton made of Grey Metal. He was an outsider carefully integrated into their workforce; a bastard child that proved useful enough to keep around but not enough, not yet, to be considered family.

Yes, a bastard but perhaps also a son nonetheless.

* * *

Reapers did not decompose and she looked pink with health despite the weapon jammed into her chest. The frost had thawed, leaving her skin dotted with beads of water, matching the drops of suspension liquid on her synthetic doppelgänger. William sat by her side, hands folded as though in prayer by his lips.

Risk possible destruction to bring her back, or give her the proper rest she deserves. What would she choose, had she a voice at this very moment?

Reaching out, he traced the feathered outline of her brow and moved the wet threads of hair out of her face. He knew he was being abhorrently selfish; bring her back and then what? Explain to her he had delayed her Reaping for eight and a half decades for a chance to express what exactly? That perhaps he had been a daft fool for centuries and had cared deeply for her but couldn't bear to upset their comfortable co-existence? Their laughable friendship? The burning ache in his heart that could perhaps be called-

"What would you have me do, Grell?" William asked, cupping her cheek. "I haven't the courage to let you go but if I have to choose between losing you forever and losing you for a short while, then…"

Then he would wait however many centuries it took for her soul to be restored and recycled in the _Stella Maris_, born anew with new chances and a new lease on life and no memories of his inexcusable, pathetic behaviour.

"Director." He straightened at the address, turning to face the voice.

"Agent Hayward. How may I assist you?"

"Take the chance." Charlotte came to his side, laying her hand over Grell's and squeezing it. "She's strong enough and you've known that all her life and yours."

"I could lose her forever," William reasoned, "and I do not think I could bear that."

"Well this isn't about you." The young Reaper replied bluntly, taking the seat he had vacated by the examining table. "This is about her. This is her life and she would never ever choose to go quietly."

* * *

_16:10 __March 21, 2105_

_Chambers Corporation, Los Angeles, United Americas_

"Dr. Klemis sent his report this afternoon, informing you the Thanatos prototype is ready to go into production." She put on his discarded shirt, leaving it unbuttoned so her body was still bared to him. Discreetly, she pushed the call button on the phone interface behind her. "Are you pleased?"

"Incredibly so, my darling Robin." Aleister cooed, running his finger along her jawline and coaxing her into a kiss. "Everything is progressing marvellously."

She giggled, laying back on his desk and crooking her finger to beckon him. He gladly obliged, planting his hands on either side of her head and taking in the sight of her freshly debauched body. Her skin still glistened with sweat, saliva and sex from their recent activities, and she wore a pleased smile to match his own.

"The new Emperor Nero rises again." Robin purred, propping herself up on her elbows so she could catch his lips in a kiss. "Death conquered at last."

"What rubbish." He laughed, sitting back in his chair and pulling her onto his lap. She toyed with the lapel of his blazer before spidering her fingers along his bare chest. "I don't give a damn about conquering death. All the talk about fearing Thanatos and conquering death is just the sugar I feed to folk like Klemis so they can swallow the bitter medicine of truth. We can't hope to conquer death- only level the playing field."

"Oh? Not keen to rule over death?" The Demon smoothed his hair back before easing the blazer off his shoulders. "Is that not what you seek?"

"No my darling little bird, none of that. I'm here to cause trouble and upset their neat little apple carts." Aleister knotted his fingers in her hair and pulled her into a kiss. "Just like the Bizarro Dolls, I'm in it for the chaos, the delightful chaos. I don't believe in living forever. I'd much prefer if people like dear Klemis' sister die young. Dying young is ever so beautiful- and the Reapers stay so beautifully young."

* * *

Elliott cut off the call, hands shaking. Well if Director Chambers thought it all a grand game that needed an even playing field, then he would give him an even playing field.

"If he thinks he's the only one with an ace up his sleeve, he's got another thing coming." The scientist scoffed, slamming his chair back and making his way to the main laboratory. The Thanatos prototype had passed all the proper tests and was ready for customised production; the lockdown had been lifted and Aleister had given him a new project.

"I need a failsafe, boy. I know you'll understand." Elliott lowered the vial into its chest cavity before replacing the hatch and locking it into place. "I won't allow humanity to be toyed with; not by Death nor a corrupted clone."

* * *

_08:00 __March 22, 2105_

_Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Nova Albion base, United Americas_

"Chambers, what do you have for us?" Christopher Hadley laced his fingers and rested his hands on the desk.

"A new toy." Aleister smiled, walking through the desk to cross the room; holographic conferences would never cease to amuse him. "Klemis, my good man, it's time for you to shine."

A third figure materialised in the Weyland-Yutani boardroom and Christopher recognised him as the leading scientist in their latest venture.

"Dr Klemis, welcome." Christopher greeted. "Whom do we have the pleasure of meeting today?"

"We were approached to create a solution for a problem presented to us by your military division," Elliott began, "since the production of David units ceased and the Ash model currently incomplete."

"I made you robots but you have no pilots." Aleister reminded them with a smirk. "So it seems I had to supply you with pilots too since you don't trust my machines with your flesh and blood."

"Director Chambers commissioned the creation of a second artificial intelligence robot capable of controlling military grade Arachnoids without the need for human pilots." The man stepped to the side and the HICD began recreating the outline of a smaller figure. Christopher narrowed his eyes, trying to discern its identity as the machine crafted a hologram for it. "It possesses incredible technological communicative abilities. When connected to the Faustus Interface, it will deploy the Arachnoids and control them, thus eliminating human pilots from danger."

"I have taken all the intelligence harvested from the test subjects as well as from the Reapers' pretty plastic madwoman." Aleister made to touch its head, his hand passing through the image of light blonde hair. "Today I give you my nephew; freshly completed and on his way to you as soon as this conference is over. Say hello, dear boy."

"Hello." Inhuman bright blue eyes stared at him, and Christopher felt ice drip down his spine.

"Hello. What's your name?"

"Alois Trancy." The boy smiled and he was wicked, Christopher could see, right to the core. "Do you like spiders, Director Hadley? I do."

He walked through the table and leaned right in, so close Christopher expected to feel his breath on his face.

"And I hear you need someone to play with; when can I start?"


	34. Fire and Blood

_08:30 March 23, 2105_

_Project Aurora Bunker, Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Londinium Ark_

"I'm glad you chose to go ahead with the project, Director Spears."

"Someone very close to Grell reminded me that she would never choose to go quietly." William straightened his glasses as they made their way to the observation deck. "I owe it to her to give Grell a fighting chance."

"But is a scythe necessary, Dr Ashwood? She need not be damaged if her programming encounters errors." Christopher turned to his left, and the silver-fair Ancient cackled with laughter. A classic form scythe rested on his shoulder, its batwing blade cradled by a skull and a skeletal torso.

"My dear man," Sydney smiled, "the scythe isn't for her. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm needed in the lab. Please enjoy the show."

* * *

"My head hurts." Alois fisted his hands in his hair and rocked forward.

"You cannot feel pain." Elliott informed him, not looking up from his workbench. "I installed no tactile sensors."

"Well I _remember_ 'hurt'." The blonde lay back on the cold stainless table. "And I know it feels like too much is crammed in my head and my brain's going to burst."

"The Grey Metal ate away a good portion of your Record, or so I was told." The scientist caught his gaze briefly before turning back to his touchscreen. "Your Record was in tatters already when the Director delivered it to me."

"So I'm broken?" Alois asked curiously, rolling onto his stomach. "You made a broken boy to tug the strings of machines?"

"You are a box." Elliott stood, walking over to him. "You hold the key to undoing the Reapers and the mind to wield war machines. You are not a boy. You are box- a machine, nothing more."

The blonde placed a hand on his chest and scratched the synthetic skin with his nails. White liquid bubbled out of the cuts.

"Can you make it red? My lubricant; can you make it red?"

"Why would I do that?"

"So it'll look like blood." He sucked on his fingertips and tasted nothing, only analysing the slick texture of the fluid.

"You aren't a real boy. It doesn't matter what colour it is."

"What if I tear out your precious key? What if I don't want to make the metal spiders move for you?"

"You are a machine." He repeated, narrowing his eyes. "You cannot want and you certainly cannot harm yourself. You harm Reapers; that is your prime directive."

"My prime directive." Alois mimicked him mockingly before giggling. "If I can only harm Reapers, why am I behind glass?"

"You are in a highly sterilised environment free of contaminants." Elliott placed his palm against the glass, tipping his head slightly. "Though you could consider this preventative measures, too."

The boy hopped off the table and crawled towards him. Standing, he pressed his palm against the glass where Elliott's hand rested.

"You made a broken box with the broken memories of a broken child."

"Your one purpose is to break things, Alois: Reapers." Elliott stepped away and returned to his computer, initiating a viral upload into the android's processing core.

Alois twitched once, twice, thrice before collapsing into a seizing heap. He clutched his head and screamed, and it was fire being poured into his head and he struggled against the flood of bits and pieces of memories and information and plans and instructions and-

"Hate them as I do. Break them as I wish I could."

* * *

Wet.

Well-

_Slimy_, to be precise.

Slimy: wet and slick, on the skin.

_Sharp_.

Sharp: the scent of disinfectant, cutting the air.

_Sour_.

Sour: the taste, curdling on the tongue.

_Snap_.

Snap, snap, snap: the sound, cracking the silence.

"**Tactile sensors: online. Taste sensors: online."**

"Keep clicking your fingers by her ear. Talk to her. Get her to respond!"

"Grell Sutcliff? Grell Sutcliff can you hear me?"

"Yes, stop being so bloody loud!"

"**Audio sensors: online. Vocal capabilities: online."**

"Shut it! Stop yelling!" She growled, turning her head away and rubbing her eyes. All was black. Why couldn't she see?

"Adjust audio sensitivity."

"**Adjusting. Complete. Motor skills: online. Visual capabilities: online."**

She blinked rapidly until the darkness cleared. The light was blinding and mortals in white coats looked down on her. One put a hand on her shoulder.

"Grell Sutcliff?"

"Don't touch me!" She snapped, slapping his hand away. He clutched it and doubled over in pain. Hm.

"**Initiating full synchronisation; standby for complete activation."**

Lightning raced through her body, and she arched off the table like a taut bow before writhing against her bonds.

"**Releasing restraints; security standby." **

"Grell Sutcliff, please relax-" Someone tried to hold her down and she threw him off her. She grabbed the arm of the next man and shoved it away. Another hand. Another body. Red blood splashed on her and there were cries around her and flashes of silver as a scythe arced through the air and cut winding records.

Grell looked around her in a daze, eventually identifying her surroundings as an operating theatre complete with observation deck on the floor above. The darkness had receded to reveal white labcoats and white machines and only one smudge of black remained.

One smudge of black?

"William!"

* * *

This had to work, it had to. Eight and a half decades he had waited for this project, nearly faltering but a day ago, and now here they were.

Beside him the new Director of Weyland-Yutani Corporation paced restlessly. His body language was clear enough: would their costly investment pay off?

Below them in the theatre, Dr Ashwood carefully eased the rose clippers out of her chest. The records burst forth, though only the three of them could see it, and the Reaper wrestled it into submission with his scythe before guiding it into the synthetic body.

David stood by the holographic screen and though his mouth did not move, his announcements came through the speakers as he initiated the activation of the new gynoid shell.

It was a perfect replication and yet when it was uninhabited it was nothing like her at all. Until William watched it arch off the table and fight its bonds and tear limbs and break bones and then it was her, it was Grell shouting and struggling against the staff and searching wildly around her and-

"William!"

His breath caught in his chest and he pushed past the board members, shoving Hadley aside and taking the steps two and three at a time.

She scrambled to her feet, slipping on the suspension liquid they had kept the body floating in, and it took a moment for her to remember how to move limbs and walk and then run and then she was running towards him.

He placed his hand against the glass wall and she did the same on the other side, smiling triumphantly at him and it was no longer just a shell, it was her: it was Grell Sutcliff.

William pushed past the staff in biohazard suits, running straight through the decontamination chamber and it felt like an eternity before the doors opened and he was crushing her to his chest and she was in his arms, Grell Sutcliff: whole again and alive.

She squeezed him in return and he was sure he heard a few ribs crack. Collateral, nothing more.

"Oh William, you silly creature." He felt her nuzzle his shoulder. "I told you to leave me but you couldn't, could you? You're just as stubborn as I am, you incorrigible, meddling creature."

She laughed and the sound made his heart swell and his chest ache and his vision blur.

"I'm as right as rain, Will, don't act as if I'm back from the dead!" A tease at his expense and a kiss on his cheek. "But I'm glad you missed me, even if only for a day."

"No, not a day." He murmured into her hair, holding onto her as if to never let her out of his arms again. "Not a day; a lifetime."

But she wasn't listening; rather she was looking at her chest, having determined why she couldn't press up to him as closely as before. Cupping her breasts, she leaned back and glanced between her legs.

"Well. These are certainly new."


	35. Friction

(This chapter is a guest chapter by paperwhale on Tumblr. For background information, as well as the world timeline, terraforming posts and general artwork please visit Thantos-Initiative on Tumblr)

* * *

Grell was never one to believe that form and function were necessarily at odds, but with the way her handlers ran her around in circles for answers, sometimes, she had her doubts. She stood in front of the mirror in her small barracks (holding cell was more like it; if she were really as important as she was lead to believe, she ought to have had royal accommodations) admiring the shape of her new body, so similar to what she had always imagined herself looking like.

It was a shame that they insisted on putting her in silly looking jumpsuits for training; her wish to spend the time prancing about naked seemed like a beneficial arrangement for everyone. The body was a masterpiece from a visual perspective; Director Chambers had been the one charged with its aesthetics, and it was obvious the lineage she shared with his previous line of 'pleasure models'.

Of course, she was a boundary breaking advancement in cybernetic bodies with flesh neurology (again, why no royal treatment for this?), and the Viscount's other project had been merely an assortment of toys to be rented out for profit. They were fitted with enough rudimentary AI to imitate sexual performance and couldn't so much as walk quickly without tripping over themselves, which wasn't all that much of a design flaw considering their main function could be done predominantly in a horizontal position.

Grell herself, though, was not one to take things lying down so to speak, not for work and certainly not for pleasure. Her body's balance and strength were incredible, nigh uncontrollable. The nervous system, which Undertaker (He had a new name now, she had to keep reminding herself, but to her he would always hail by that deceptively humble title) had taken charge of calibrating, was more of a big question mark on her visual monitor.

She had to learn to feel things over again, and couldn't get any straight answers about whether she would be able to truly feel like she used to; pleasure and pain and luscious combinations of the two. Could she taste even without a stomach to eat? Smell without the incidental need to process oxygen? She had asked just about every variation in phrasing of the big question just short of "YES BUT WILL I BE ABLE TO HAVE A FUCKING ORGASM, YOU OBTUSE GITS?" and that was precisely the next turn of phrase she planned to use, once she got the chance. The labcoats didn't much like all her questions and talkback when it was 'training time', but they were going to have to get used to it.

A queen's fight for respect was a perpetual struggle in any age.

There were some tasks that she couldn't wheedle into the official training schedule, and she was not yet allowed to take recreation time outside of the lab, much less permission for a shopping trip, but enough persuasive flirting had convinced Chambers to sneak her a nice pair of shoes. ("With a really solid high heel; just a nice proper ballcrushing pair of heels, you know?")  
She buckled them snugly, straightening up and admiring her reflection. She had learned to kick plenty of arse in a killer set of heels back when she had been limited by flesh, so it oughtn't take long for her android body to learn digitigrade motion. A life without stilettos, she thought, was no life at all.

"IRIS, let me into the training platform." She said, pressing the button on the intercom beside her door.  
"Your training regimen is complete today, Miss Sutcliffe. You should be taking this allotted time to charge and/or meditate." A soft synthesized voice responded.  
"Shove it up your USB port, IRIS, I'm a grown woman and I'll do what I want."

That much was evident, in her insistence upon wearing the heels and nothing else out of her chamber. There had to have been at least two surveillance lackeys watching the training room on camera, but they were also watching her in her chamber for fuck's sake, so she might as well enjoy herself and give them a show.

"Run vault program 34," She said, watching as several platforms shifted and provided an obstacle course. She sprung into flight, slipping a bit on the second landing, but it didn't take long for her to hit her stride. The vibrations of impact faintly registered on her limbs, but not with the familiar pain she was used to. The rushing of air past her was little more than a blinking number in her peripheral vision, her velocity tracker. The ever present joy of accomplishment was present, but the facsimile of adrenaline was slow, a phantom rush just out of reach.  
A door slid open, and Grell had to twist in mid-air to catch sight of her visitor, barely managing to land on her feet when she did.

"Agent Sutcliffe…" said Will, in his perfect monotone, though he seemed to fight back the tiniest flustered inkling of a gasp, "It is past your required training hours."  
"I'm being good, Will, honest to death I am." She said, doing a little rond de jambe to display her foot, daintily pointed. "Just had to test out the new fatigues."

A hundred years ago, Will might have turned red and snapped at her in irritation. Now he furrowed his brow slightly, clearly mentally debating between keeping eye contact with her face or her feet because he certainly was not lingering in between.  
"That is by far the most creative liberty you have taken with the Dispatch dress code in all the years we have worked together."  
Grell smiled. "Pleased to serve you." she said, imitating a curtsy, "So, dear, would you like to spar with me? It'll be just like the old days."

"In 'the old days', my skeleton would stand a chance against your strength. As it stands I would need to suit up in mechanized armour to make it a fair fight." Will adjusted his glasses. He was still doing that.  
"I'll hold back, darling." She said, stepping, _sashaying_, towards him. "Five percent. Just give me a little friction." She advanced on him, deliberately slowing her distribution of force, and Will easily caught her fist in his hand as she struck. She measured the strength he used against her, responded in kind, sped up and began to grin widely as he took agile leaps and bounds out of her way. It was heartening to see the years hadn't slowed him a bit.

"This is not a wise idea." Will said breathily, as he struck an ineffectual blow to her middle, and she indulgently imitated the motion of being struck, though she felt next to nothing. "You are far too strong."

Grell swung a high kick over Will's head, and he ducked, having the good grace to flush a bit as he caught a peek of the assets she was most eager to show off.  
"Problem, dear? You're not into strong ladies?" In a swift motion she had him against a wall, "Doesn't that turn you on?"  
"Nonsense. I'm not like you…" he said, struggling to maintain his balance and his dignity with a machine-like vice grip on his wrists and a set of far-too-realistic polymer breasts pressed against him, "My interests are not nearly so lewd."  
"And what are your interests?" She asked. "If roughly grappling with my lovely naked self doesn't do the trick, I'm all out of ideas."

Grell ran her fingers through Will's hair. "Ah! You're sweating. Did I really put you through such exertion with that tiny little spat?"  
"I am still limited by certain corporeal parameters," Will said, "So yes."  
"You hardly ever broke a sweat unless I got really serious with you, back in the old days. It was such a rare treat, seeing you all worked up, out of breath… smelling you. Aaah! You had such a wonderful, masculine musk. It makes me nostalgic. I miss it so!"

She relented her grip, edging up close and resting her head on his shoulder before taking in an imitation of a breath. She had been equipped with the ability to collect air samples, analyse the chemical content, and run the results through an encyclopaedia of relevant information. It was still a poor replacement for the joy of truly recognizing scents. She had to settle for this clinical farce of… wait a moment…? She took in another breath, running it again through her data analysis, and her sudden change of concentration had Will clearly concerned. She took a few moments to glue together the evidence, but… yes.

Grell grinned triumphantly. "Why, Mister Spears. I believe you are aroused."  
Will, unchanged in so many ways, naturally fought the accusation. "That's an absolutely ridiculous claim."  
"Is it? My chemical analysis system detects the presence of some very particular pheromones in your sweat. Ooh, how exciting, this must be what makes you smell so good. They say that analysing the science of things takes the romance out of it, but heavens are they wrong! I'm getting all worked up already!"  
"Grell I believe you should calm yoursel-"  
"This is amazing!"  
"Yes, however a bit more concerning is-"  
"Oh, Will, take me now, I can't handle the tension any longer!"

Even with her advanced motion sensor, the next few moments were a blur of unsteady limbs, and Grell was uncertain who hit the floor first.

* * *

Even after centuries of truly marvellous medical advancement, there were some cases in which a cold ice pack and a bit of patience were still the best cure for a bruise to the head. Grell sat, fists curled up defensively on her lap, on the bench in Doctor Ashwood's lab as Will squarely avoided eye contact with the both of them.

"A wee bop to the head to keep your man in line, Miss Sutcliff?" Ashwood asked with a chuckle.  
"That isn't what happened at all!" Grell leaned forward, the shoulder of her hastily tied up robe slipping down her shoulder, "He slipped. We both did!"  
"Slipped on the training platform, arranged in program 34-Q; the one textured to have perfect traction. I see, quite a feat."  
"It wasn't on nothing," Will muttered, "There was a… spill."  
"Spill, more like a bloody oil slick. I've no idea where it came from!" Grell gestured wildly, clearly regarding any semblance of modesty from her robe as a farce. She did still carry a tiny flame for the Undertaker after all, and didn't at all mind letting him have a few good looks at her. The robe had been on Will's insistence.

Undertaker consulted his guidebook, tapping through notes left by his partner, particularly notes on the subject of android fluids.  
"'486 on functionality of sex organs: the response program of the pleasure model is borrowed here, reacting primarily to sensors of various chemical and physical signals of sexual arousal in others. (see appendix G) lubrication response is also linked to thoughts of strongly sexual nature in the artificial brain, and intensity of lubrication is proportional to the intensity of the stimulus. Adjustment for proportion may be needed- monitor closely.'"

Doctor Ashwood grinned and fetched a small vessel of suspension fluid, poured it in a wine glass and offered it to Grell, who seemed to suddenly notice she was parched.  
"Well it seems you lambs have been having a bit too much fun."


	36. Rebels and Reunions

_06:30 April 6, 2105_

_Thanatos Initiative bunker, Los Angeles, United Americas_

There existed a room full of sleeping dolls. They were all tall and beautiful and fleshly. They slept in glass pods with identification labels, lined in neat rows and columns. The names of their owners were printed straight onto the glass, and they slept under the protection of those letters.

He wanted to burn them all.

'The Thanatos Initiative': that's what they called the sleeping dolls. And he held their secrets, their blueprints, in his chest.

"Boy, get out of the surveillance system."

The Faustus Interface tugged at his limbs, but he brushed them off and disconnected from the sticky strands. Pulling out of its grasp, he sat up and waited as the world of numbers melted back into the world of concrete and glass and polyurethane skin and Grey Metal bones.

In the depths of his mind he could see the swirl of decaying memories and numbers and sticky strands of spider webs. Alois curled on his side and swirled his fingers in his hair. If he closed his eyes it felt the same; the Faustus Interface was indulgent and comforting and offered an escape from the unfeeling puppeteer.

"Upload these files to the secure server. The password is embedded in the third layer of coding."

The numbers broke apart behind his eyes, tumbling into words and pictures as they reassembled into a legible form.

"Why are you giving this to them? This is highly classified material."

"Because it's time to give the Arks back to the people- _real_ people, of flesh and blood and bone."

"Uncle Aleister is made of flesh and blood and bone." Alois sat up, dangling his legs off the edge of the cold examining table they called a 'bed'. "These are his blueprints. You just follow them. They aren't yours to give."

"Your Uncle is a copy of a man once made of flesh and blood and bone. He's had his time once and that's all anyone should be allowed; one life."

"You're selling the Arachnoid blueprints to the highest bidder." The boy frowned, reaching out to the familiar web. A sharp sting burst in his head and he recoiled.

"Yes. And you're going to keep quiet about it, because I've programmed you to."

* * *

_Chambers Cybernetic Armoured Division hangar, Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Londinium Ark_

She had always had two legs, even before she awakened in a cybernetic body; two legs and two arms and two eyes. Now she had eight legs and eight eyes.

Grell hesitantly leaned forward, urging her front left leg to take a step. All four legs on the left took a step forward, and it sent the Arachnoid crashing down. Oops. Alright. Regroup. Try again.

The metal spider shakily got up on all legs and Grell focused on the vast network of hydraulics needed to move the machine.

_Front right leg. One step. Just one._

"No no no! You're scratching her all up!" Aleister cried, throwing his hands up in frustration as the Arachnoid skittered to the side like a drunkard before shouldering a wall and falling into a heap. "One leg at a time!"

"I'll bloody well pry off your legs one at a time!" Grell shouted, narrowly avoiding swiping a floor technician. "I've only ever had four limbs, I've never had to control eight!"

"What do you tell your legs when you want to walk?" The blond demanded, his voice feeding directly into the cockpit via a mic pinned to his lapel. "What do you have to say to them to get them to move?"

"Nothing!" She screeched, her mind spinning as she tried to tame a flurry of coding into commands to get the spider back upright. "I just walk! Why would I have to tell my legs something?!"

Aleister smiled triumphantly, saying nothing in return in order to let her contemplate her own answer.

"Nothing." Grell echoed, eyes widening. Shutting off the pool of numbers pouring behind her eyes, Grell pulled her thinking back to that of a Reaper rather than a machine. "I don't tell my legs anything. I just…"

_Walk._

The towering spider stood firmly upright before it took a step forward. Then another. And another. And another.

"Brava!" Aleister cried, clapping enthusiastically. "Bravissima!" The black spider came to a stop and looked up at him. "Now, directly north of the Weyland building, what lies outside of the Ark?"

Grell brought up her satellite imaging feed and gave it coordinates.

"The combat training grounds for the Chambers Cybernetic Armoured Division."

"Leave the Trooper activated and come back into your body: I have a playmate for you. I want to see the both of you level those training grounds. Show me what you can do with my beautiful instruments of Death."

The door at the end of the bridge opened and Grell leaned against the doorway.

"With pleasure, my dear."

* * *

Three metal spiders looked up at him from the hangar, and Eric wondered if those cold tinted eyes could see his discomfort from where he stood on the observation bridge. They were lined up in ascending height order, and the tallest would have easily reached 50ft. Technicians buzzed around them like ants, poking and prodding and programming the metal creatures with eight metal legs and an armoured metal hide.

"It seems neither of us cares for staying dead, Eric Slingby." A bemused voice purred behind him, and he spun to face the owner.

"Aleister Chambers." He gave a curt nod. "Last I heard, you'd been found on the floor of a cultist's basement, strangled with your own innards."

"Along with forty-three others; I'll have you know trying to find Devilish playmates is tricky business." The blond smiled as he took a stand beside the Reaper.

"Didn't pay off well in the end, did it?" Eric snorted.

"No, but ah it was beautiful, chaotic fun whilst it lasted- much like our little arrangement with the pretty birds at the opera." He took great pleasure in the stiffening of the Reaper's posture. "Did your dear friend make use of the thousand souls you worked so hard to provide him?"

"Why did you bring me here?" The Scotsman growled, shooting the man a seething glare.

"Because one of my pet scientists thinks he's cleverer than I, and we all know that isn't true." Aleister turned his gaze back at the gleaming Arachnoids below. "My sources tell me there are crude copies of my spiders being built, and their blueprints are fetching a pretty penny on the illegal arms trade."

"The Outlanders are using your own weapons against you?" Eric cocked a brow.

"They're _trying_ to, and it's an ugly sight. I absolutely _abhor_ ugliness, do you understand? I won't stand for it." He wrinkled his nose, and Eric shrugged.

"What's any of that got to do with me? Outlanders. Arkists. They're all mortal; if they die, I'll reap them. That's all there is to it."

"The mortals are too frightened to pilot my machines against the rebels." Aleister sighed, leaning against the barrier. Once, a lifetime ago, he had stood beside this man and overlooked a massacre about to take place. He wondered if another were about to take place. "They want something to be done about the rebels, but they don't want to be the ones doing that 'something'."

"All mortals fear Death." Eric reminded him. "Soldiers are no different, even if they believe in their cause. There is always a split second moment of all-consuming fear when presented with the possibility of Death."

"They fear my machines because they can play gods with them. They fear the big bad monsters outside of their safe glass domes. Years in the Arks have made them soft." The Replicant chuckled with a shake of his head. "They don't remember what it's like to kill another man, yet the Outlanders don't remember what it's like not to have to kill to survive. The Outlanders plan to overthrow both Weyland-Yutani and Chambers Corporation, in order to take control of the cybernetics market."

"Why did you bring me here, Chambers?" Eric repeated his earlier question.

"These are yours now." He made a sweeping gesture at the three machines below. "I am gifting your kind with three of the most sought after machines in the world. You're going to need heavy artillery if you have to go out there amidst a revolutionary bloodbath. But first, you're going to need to learn pilot them- and I have the perfect pilot."

Eric opened his mouth to reply, but only a strangled yelp escaped as a pinch on his backside startled him. Arms snaked around him from behind and someone rested their cheek on his shoulder.

"Come on you big lumberjack." Red hair, mischievous eyes and a sharp grin. "Let's go play."

* * *

_The Arachnoid 'Trooper' model: 20ft tall, armed for light to medium combat and medium defence. Though not as swift as the 'Scout', it is faster than the 'Destroyer', and serves as the crucial role of an all-rounder able to both infiltrate and defend itself. _

Eric read the information displayed on the screen and stored it in his memory. Shifting uncomfortably, he tried to forget he was sitting in the belly of a metal spider being controlled by a colleague he'd hoped only the best for, but had made peace with losing.

"Grell, how are you moving this thing? If I'm in the cockpit, where did you go?" The Reaper looked around but could only discern enough space for only one pilot. "You were just with me on the deck but I entered this alone."

"My consciousness has been uploaded into the VIOLA interface." She stated matter of factly. "My body's back at the base and my mind is in this machine making it move. More importantly, aren't you going to ask me how I am? Eighty-five years of nothing, Slingby- doesn't a lady deserve a proper greeting?"

"This wasn't what I had in mind." He grumbled, slumping in the chair. "Spears kept us in the dark all these years and all we could learn about you we got out of Poppet rather than him."

"Little Lotte logged an inquiry about me every single day since I went into cryosleep." Her voice softened and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Dear thing. Ronnie-pup asked System about me too."

"Yeah well," Eric closed his eyes and sighed heavily, "it'd be nice if you could use your newfangled brain to locate the Pup. It's been over a year since we've seen him."

"Sorry what?" The spider came to a jarring halt, and Eric was jerked forward.

"Ron went missing after a scouting mission in December 2104." The words tasted foul on his tongue. "There was a storm that caused havoc on our gear. His coordinates were only recovered once the storm had passed and when we went there he was gone."

"A whole year and you couldn't find him?!" She has no face but he pictured her snarl and blazing gaze. "How big is the Reaper network? We are literally stationed all over the bloody world and no one's seen him?!"

"Do you think we're not trying hard enough to find him?!" Eric roared. "We've already sent three of the Pack to find out what the hell's going on over there in America!"

"_And_?" Grell demanded, getting her bearings back and continuing the hazardous trek to the training grounds. "And what did they find?"

"Nothing. They stayed over there to help Chambers with your programming." Eric scowled in frustration before heaving a sigh. "I guess they'll be flying back soon now that you're up and running again. Ah, there it is."

The cluttered training grounds came into view and Eric whistled in admiration. What had once been a military training base and hangar, the grounds were now littered with antiquated tanks and armoured vehicles. The now privatised cybernetic military used it as training grounds for the hulking Arachnoids Chambers supplied Weyland-Yutani.

"Now Eric, I need you to put your hands all over me and push my buttons." Grell purred, and there was the Red he was so used to, the Red he had missed over the decades despite his loud proclamations of irritation in the past.

"Nice to hear you're still the same, Red." He tried to scold but his mouth was curved in a grin. "So the user interface is all touch sensitive? No physical controls?"

"No need to manhandle me, darling. Sensual touches are what do it for women."

The interface lit up and an array of artillery icons appeared on the left side.

"Choose your weapon, soldier, and let's have at you."

* * *

"You…broke it?" Aleister alternated his gaze between the two Reapers standing before his desk. Both looked equally guilty and smug at the same time.

"Overestimated-"

"Overheated-"

"-incredibly difficult to manoeuvre when I have to work the weaponry at the same time-"

"-hard to control when Red's screeching at me to-"

"Screeching?!"

"You were like a bloody banshee in there! I can't concentrate when you're shrieking at me!"

"I should have fried you in that cockpit you insufferable git! You're lucky I could get us back to base!"

"The Trooper's being repaired now." Aleister interjected. "Grell since you were disconnected abruptly from the mainframe, David wants you to undergo a full diagnostic. Agent Slingby we're going to have you train with simulators before we allow you to pair up with Grell again."

Both opened their mouths to protest, but Aleister shot them a glare.

"Out." Aleister pointed at his office door. They bowed reluctantly and took their leave.

"Banshee." Eric muttered, and earned an elbow in the side.

"Insufferable git." Grell hissed, but dropped her expression once she saw his grin.

"Welcome back, Red."

"Good to be back, rascal."


	37. Troubleshooting

_16:45 April 29, 2105_

_Chambers Cybernetic Armoured Division hangar, Weyland-Yutani Corporation, Londinium Ark_

See, it wasn't the neural link that made piloting an Arachnoid difficult; the Faustus Interface was user-friendly and once one grew accustomed to the eight legs and the 360° view, it was relatively straightforward. No, the mechanics of the machine were not difficult to master; Grell Sutcliff was the problem.

Trying to pilot with her as the AI rather than relying on the genderless, almost childlike voice of the Faustus Interface, was akin to driving long distance with a screeching banshee.

Eric passed all training programs with ease and found himself reunited with his hotblooded Captain despite his protests. It wasn't anything personal, but he did fear for his safety a little. They had always butted heads over even trivial things- what more when they would be out on the battlefield?

"Try not to get hot flushes this time, Red." The Scotsman grumbled, easing himself into the cockpit of the newly repaired Trooper Arachnoid.

"Shut it, you big oaf." Her voice hissed, the cockpit suddenly lighting up as she logged online. "I pilot; you shoot."

"You pilot; I shoot. Got it." Eric sighed, fidgeting impatiently as the Arachnoid was cycled through three security airlocks before the Wastelands came into view. "What are we doing out here?"

"Troubleshooting." She managed to make the Arachnoid shrug, and Eric's brows rose. "Little Lotte's out here with the Pack and even Will's with them since the reports about the rebels flooded in."

"Oh yeah?" He grimaced, idly observing their bleak surroundings. "They manage to build one of these things yet?"

"They've built one, or so the surveillance satellite tells us." Grell hummed in thought, and Eric watched in amusement as one foreleg was brought to the equivalent of the machine's mouth as if in thought. "Your clever cookie discovered their encrypted transmissions, so thanks to Alan we know they want to attack the food silos and let the city starve."

"Alan's the best thing to have happened to Intelligence Operations." Eric couldn't help but puff up in pride. "Sharpest mind in the Division."

"Well, I'd agree but Will-" Grell trailed off, initiating the cloaking shield as warm-blooded life forms beaded on her radar. "We've got heat. I'm turning on the combat systems."

**YOU ARE TRESPASSING ON OUTLANDER TERRITORY.**

"Show yourself." Eric barked.

**SURRENDER AND WE WILL GIVE YOU A SWIFT DEATH.**

* * *

_Intelligence Operations, London Reaper Dispatch Londinium Ark_

It was a little disturbing when one's colleague resembled a corpse when working alongside them. Alan glanced over briefly at Grell's body laid out on a reclining seat; the artificial creation was plugged into the VIOLA mainframe via a thick cable at the nape. Essentially the body was just a shell, as Grell's consciousness was uploaded into cyberspace in order to control the hulking metal spiders that could traverse the Wastelands safely.

She was instead just a voice and, as Alan observed with great amusement, a rather animated Arachnoid. Somehow, even in a faceless weaponised machine, she was still Grell. Oh how he'd missed her liveliness.

"The scouting party is just up ahead, but exercise caution." Alan warned, feeling a little unnerved. "There's highly irradiated patches all around you and it's making surveillance hard."

"Can you give me Will's location?"

"The Director's GPS co-ordinates are being sent through now." Alan tapped out the numbers and hit send. "The Outlanders regularly patrol through this area, so be careful."

The rebels were causing both the Division and the Ark population a grand headache as of late. Desperation made them violent, and violence led to increased unscheduled deaths, and unscheduled deaths led to overtime.

The trick was to stay one step ahead; Death awaited all mortals, and it was up to Alan and his team to instruct the dispatch crew as to where to lie in wait.

"Alan," a different voice piped up, "are we getting closer at all?" Charlotte's monitor fed a live view of her surroundings, and he could spot the rest of the Pack dotted around her.

"Yes. Eric and Grell are headed your way with an ETA of three minutes." A warning light flashed for attention and Alan fought the rise of panic in his chest. "Outlander patrol team incoming!"

* * *

In a way, she understood their motives; the Outlanders lived on the outskirts of the Arks and struggled to eke out an existence in the decaying, contaminated landscape. Theirs was an arduous existence and the mortality rate was through the roof, needing the establishment of a dedicated Reaper taskforce just to cope with the deaths.

Charlotte pitied them and knew that living so close to safety yet not close enough must have driven them to such extreme action. Revolution was the word whispered in the Arks, and the sympathisers boldly stated it wouldn't be long before a new status quo was initiated by the Outlanders.

Still, Outlander or Arkist, none were immune to Death.

Beside her, Director Spears was hard at work running a scan of their surroundings. Stragglers from battles fought long ago often lingered in the debris, their souls left unharvested due to the chaos at the time. Left to fester, they would amalgamate into fearsome Pit Beasts capable of bringing down Reapers in one foul swipe.

"Boss, I'm pickin' up a mechanized form on my scanner." Mackenzie reported through their intercom, waving at them from up ahead. "Captains Slingby and Sutcliff are supposed to meet up with us, right? In one o' them spiders? Heat signature is fucking massive, it can't be anything else."

William nodded. "Yes, I requested their support. We can cover larger ground if we have them piloting an Arachnoid."

Charlotte pulled up her link with the Intelligence operatives. "Alan, are we getting closer at all?"

His friendly face came into view, framed as a small thumbnail video feed in the bottom left corner. "Yes. Eric and Grell are headed your way with an ETA of three minutes." A sharp gasp and a look of shock crossed his face. "Outlander patrol team incoming!"

She barely had time to react before an explosion threw her off her feet. Scrambling upright, Charlotte turned on her suit's infrared vision, unable to see through the smoke herself. Laser rounds burst all around them, and her training kicked in as she brought up her EMP shields.

All around them shouts erupted as Outlanders swamped the scene. Drawing her gun, she readied her Scythe in her other hand and fell into an attack stance.

The ground trembled beneath her feet and for a moment she felt relief as she heard the rhythmic thudding usually created by the grand metal spiders her dear Aunt Red commanded.

"Lotte, look out!" Ryan, their Junior Field Medic, tackled her out of the way as one giant mechanized leg thumped down where she stood but a heartbeat ago. Not her Aunt, no- this spider was not one of Chambers' creations. It was taller and cruder; unpainted and unfinished, it was covered with armed rebels using its height to their advantage and raining bullets on them.

**SURRENDER AND WE WILL GIVE YOU A SWIFT DEATH.**

"You picked the wrong fight, mortals." Mackenzie growled, his Scythe cutting through their weak armour like butter. There was a whirring sound, growing higher in pitch as the spider charged something Charlotte knew would be dangerous even for them.

"Agents take cover!" William's voice boomed in their helmets.

A blinding burst of white light and the sound of deafening thunder filled her senses, and her world blackened.

* * *

When the darkness receded there was a high-pitched whine drilling right through his skull. It was a constant, piercing pitch that made his ears ring and his head pound; shellshock. Eric coughed, groaning as the sound faded into muffled speech.

"-ME?! ERIC?!"

"Stop screeching, Red!" He clutched his head.

"DO SOMETHING! I CAN'T DO THIS ON MY OWN YOU FUCKING LUMBERJACK!" Grell shouted, and it was then that Eric finally noticed the chaos all around him. Mortals in crudely fashioned armour were shooting at the Arachnoid and attempting to break in with brute force.

A bomb must have gone off right beside them, he realized, judging by the smoke and fire. The metal spider shook, Grell using its front legs like arms, grabbing and swatting at whomever it could reach.

"SHOOT! SHOOT THEM! EVERYTHING IS ONLINE! USE THE FUCKING WEAPONS SLINGBY, THAT'S OUR SCOUTING PARTY DOWN THERE!"

Snapping back into reality, Eric rapidly tapped instructions into the touchpad and the Trooper jerked into action. Missile launchers and cannons made short work of the foot soldiers but the crude metal doppelgänger looming up ahead momentarily stunned Eric.

"The fuck is that thing?! That's the bloody Destroyer! How the fuck did they manage to replicate that?!" Slamming his hand on the control panel, he brought up the H.V. Rifle and forced a sizable chunk of the Trooper's energy levels into it.

"Steady, Red!" He warned, and Grell manoeuvred her metal body to brace itself for recoil. A barrage of ferrous nickel-alloy slugs erupted from the rifle, the thunderclaps following moments later as the rounds broke through sound and metal as one. The replicated spider stumbled, beginning to collapse in on itself as it was torn apart by the bullets.

"FALL BACK!" Grell screamed, managing to sweep William out of harm's way before falling debris could pin him. Mackenzie grabbed his wrist, forcing him back onto his feet and yanking him beside him. They both ran towards her, intent on escaping the crumbling Outlander spider. Reaching one of the Arachnoid's legs, they clambered up onto safety.

"Where are the other two?!" Eric demanded, and Grell threw a sweeping scan, spotting Charlotte and Ryan perilously close to the teetering remains of the doppelgänger.

"THERE! They're near its head!" Grell outlined them onscreen before assessing the situation. The spider was falling to pieces and what remaining live rebels were being crushed by the raining metal parts.

Eric kicked the hatch open and hauled himself out of the cockpit.

"You," he pulled William towards him and all but jammed him into the seat, "be her co-pilot. You," he grabbed Mackenzie's shoulder, "cover them. You," he shouted into the cockpit at Grell on the interface, "get me as close as you can and be ready to leave at a moment's notice. Got it?"

* * *

Charlotte leapt over the fallen bodies of the rebels, not breaking pace as she too ran for cover. At her side was Ryan, and she reached over to grab his hand to ensure he wouldn't fall behind.

A sharp whistling sound sailed overhead.

She was on her back, for some unknown reason.

Her helmet visor was covered in red.

She couldn't feel her leg.

Broken glass? She brushed the shards off her helmet, smearing the red away in the process. Ryan's face came into view, his eyes bulging with shock as he shook with the effort to remain over her on all fours. His visor was broken, and his mouth was covered in blood. It dripped onto her steadily.

She tried to sit up and wriggle out from under him but found why she couldn't move her leg. A piece of the spider's torso had fallen, crushing her foot beneath it, and the only reason she hadn't been crushed wholly was due to Ryan bracing it upright with the failing hydraulics of his armoured suit.

Upon closer inspection she spotted a large metal rod clean through his shoulder, but a hair's breadth from her cheek.

"Ryan-"

"I don't have much time." The medic gasped, breathing laboriously and gritting his teeth against the pain. "Can you get your feet out?"

"I can wriggle my left foot out, but my right one's stuck."

"You'll have to cut it off. They can fix it at back at base. Can you reach it?"

She strained forward, before collapsing with a shriek at a sudden stab of pain in her side.

"My shoulder's dislocated and I've broken a few ribs." Fear. There was an emotion she hadn't experienced in a while. "Ryan, what are we going to do?"

"You're going to get out of here." Eric informed them both, skidding to a halt and dropping into a crouch beside them. He pulled out an atom dagger, sawing as fast as he could through the metal rod pierced through Ryan's shoulder. When enough was cut he placed the dagger into the Medic's grasp. Carefully he eased himself to take Ryan's place, the weight of the metal immediately slamming against his back.

"I'm no Medic. You'll have to cut her foot off." Eric shakily ordered, though his demeanour was calm. "You're her best chance. Grell will take you both back to base."

"No." Charlotte shook her head. "No, not without you. Don't pull this bullshit on me, Eric, don't you bloody dare-" She screamed in agony as she felt white hot pain race up her leg.

Hooking his hands beneath her arms, Ryan pulled her out from beneath the looming metal slab, leaving her crushed foot behind. Above them, the skeleton of the spider groaned, swaying dangerously.

"ERIC!" She sobbed through her pain, reaching out childishly for him. He gave her a tender smile.

Grabbing her head, Ryan slammed her against a rock to knock her unconscious, and Eric nodded gratefully. This, of all things, she had to be spared from seeing.

"You get my girl home, Ryan, you understand?" His limbs shook as the suit began to power down, unable to cope with the weight distribution.

"Yes sir."

He watched as mechanized arms scooped up Ryan and Charlotte, Grell tucking them safe inside the cockpit. She paused, hesitating as if to reach for him, before backing away hastily as the doppelgänger finally toppled over in a cascade of burning debris.

Eric closed his eyes and welcomed the darkness.


End file.
